Wyladde 

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(•Jake 


tff  OED-5-EVAH5- 


10  1905 


LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


GIF-T  OK 


\ 


s 


GEORGE  S.  EVANS. 


WYLACKIE  JAKE 
OF  COVELO 


BY 


GEORGE  S.  EVANS 


PRESS  OF 

THE   HICKS-JUDD  COMPANY 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL. 


Entered  According  to  Act  of  Congress 

in  the  Office  of  Librarian  of  Congress  at 

Washington,  D.  C.,  in  the  year  1904 


< 


Cover  Design  by  Henry  J.  Rodgers 


CONTENTS. 

Page 

1.  Written  in  the  Dust 1 

2.  A  Matchmaker  of  the  Foothills 16 

3.  When  Understanding  Cried  Aloud  at  "Frying  Pan"..  23 

4.  Enter  Lizard  Bill 34 

5.  A  Personally  Conducted  Elopement 45 

6.  Why  Wylackie  Jake  Went  to  Tehama 66 

7.  Exit  of  a  Tenderfoot 78 

8.  Doyle,  J.  P.    (Sub  Title)  Sidelights  on  the  Capers 

of  the  Law  in  Covelo 86 

9.  Beyond  the  Realm  of  Law ,  98 


EDITORS'  INTRODUCTION. 

This  volume  of  short  stories  of  the  late  George  S. 
Evans  is  presented  to  the  public  as  a  memorial  to 
his  literary  accomplishments  and  aspirations.  Its 
contents  are  the  product  neither  of  a  mere  beginner 
nor  of  one  long  trained  in  the  literary  profession. 

Mr.  Evans  had  been  engaged  in  writing  for  pub 
lication  only  about  three  years.  And  even  during 
that  short  space,  he  had  devoted  to  literary  work 
but  the  spare  hours  of  a  very  busy  life.  The  stories 
printed  here  are  but  a  few  of  those  that  he  had 
written. 

The  selections  made  for  this  publication,  Mr. 
Evans  had  himself  planned  to  collect  into  a  book  at 
some  future  day.  He  expected,  of  course,  to  add  to 
their  number.  But  it  has  seemed  to  his  friends 
that  he  had  already  produced  enough  stories  dealing 
with  the  same  characters  and  having  the  same  back 
ground  to  make  a  collection  that  would  be  acceptable 
to  the  public. 

These  stories  do  not  represent  what  Mr.  Evans 
would  have  become  as  a  writer,  for  his  work  was 
constantly  improving.  But  a  number  of  them  were 
deemed  of  requisite  merit  to  be  printed  in  the  best 
Pacific  Coast  publications,  and  the  others  seem 
very  little,  if  any,  below  those  in  interest.  The 
friends  of  the  late  Mr.  Evans,  therefore,  have  every 
confidence  that  such  a  book  as  the  present  will  please 
a  great  many  readers. 


BIOGRAPHICAL    SKETCH. 

George  Samuel  Evans  was  born  June  5,  1876,  in 
Visalia,  Tulare  County,  California.  His  parents 
were  James  and  Mary  N.  Evans.  He  was  the  elder 
of  two  children,  the  other  being  a  brother,  Fred 
Evans. 

When  George  Evans  was  about  fourteen  years 
of  age,  the  family  moved  to  Oakland.  There  he 
was  educated  in  the  high  school.  He  spent  one  year 
at  the  University  of  California,  then  took  up 
the  study  of  the  law,  and  was  admitted  to  the  bar 
in  1897.  He  devoted  himself  earnestly  to  his  pro 
fession,  and  had  made  steady  progress  in  it. 

In  1901  Mr.  Evans  entered  local  politics,  when 
he  was  elected  on  the  Republican  ticket  as  one  of  the 
Library  Trustees  of  the  Oakland  Free  Library.  To 
this  position  he  was  re-elected  in  1903,  and  was 
serving  as  such  Trustee  at  the  time  of  his  death, 
May  26,  1904. 

Mr.  Evans  had  been  connected  with  the  First 
Unitarian  Church  of  Oakland  since  boyhood.  He 
was  a  member  of  many  of  its  organizations,  and 
always  an  enthusiastic  worker  in  its  activities. 

Reading  was  with  him  a  passion.  He  loved 
virile,  robust  books.  The  record  of  noble  and  stir 
ring  action  never  failed  to  arouse  in  him  the  glow  of 
enthusiastic  admiration.  He  was  also  very  fond  of 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

books  of  humor.  He  felt  the  stirrings  of  literary 
ambition  several  years  ago,  and  while  never  relaxing 
his  attention  to  his  legal  practice,  devoted  his 
spare  time  to  writing. 

Short  stories,  sketches  of  outdoor  scenes,  and 
bits  of  historical  writing  came  rapidly  from  his  pen. 
He  met  with  the  discouragements  that  most  young 
writers  encounter,  but  his  perseverance  triumphed 
over  them,  and  in  the  end  editors  asked  him  to  sub 
mit  work. 

During  the  last  two  years  Mr.  Evans  opened  up 
the  vein  of  short-story  writing  that  came  to  appeal 
most  to  him.  He  perceived  that  his  best  literary 
work  was  done  in  the  portrayal  of  the  scenes  and 
people  of  the  rugged  cattle  country  of  Mendocino 
and  Tehama  Counties,  California.  In  the  moun 
tain  fastnesses  of  these  regions  the  cougar  and  the 
deer  still  find  a  breathing  space,  and  the  people  ex 
hibit  all  the  naturalness  of  pioneers.  Mr.  Evans  saw 
particularly  the  humorous  side  of  the  life  whose 
heart  is  the  village  of  Covelo,  in  northern  Mendocino 
County.  Had  he  lived,  he  would  certainly  have  de 
veloped  this  phase  of  his  writing  as  his  main  liter 
ary  endeavor.  But  just  as  he  was  entering  his 
literary  land  of  promise,  death  called  him,  and  he 
dropped  forever  the  facile  pen  that  was  delighting 
a  constantly  increasing  number  of  readers. 


WYLACKIE   JAKE   OF   COVELO 


WRITTEN   IN   THE   DUST.* 

Rumor  had  it  that  buckaroo  Wylackie  Jake  was 
a  cattle  rustler,  a  sheep  stealer  and  a  hog  thief ;  but 
then  Rumor  in  Round  Valley  is  painted  full  of 
tongues.  Perhaps  Jake  should  have  been  in  a  peni 
tentiary  instead  of  on  Hammer  Horn  Mountain  with 
me.  I  say  "perhaps,"  for  I  do  not  know.  Had  he 
lived  in  a  community  of  prosperous  grangers,  there 
is  probably  no  doubt  but  that  it  would  have  found 
a  way  of  depriving  itself  of  his  company,  whether 
the  rumors  concerning  Jake  were  true  or  not.  Pros 
perous  grangers  are  not  romantic.  But  Round  Val 
ley  is  a  frontier  community  given  over  to  grazing, 
and  is  possessed  of  the  spirit  of  romance.  It  enjoyed 
the  rumors  about  Jake's  skill  as  a  rustler,  and  Jake 
enjoyed  the  fierce  light  of  notoriety  that  beat  down 
upon  him,  and  slyly  painted  more  tongues  on  the 
already  tongue-besmeared  cloak  of  Rumor.  There 
is  reason  to  believe  that  a  line  would  have  been 
drawn  to  the  toleration  of  Jake,  even  in  romantic 
Round  Valley,  had  he  ever  turned  his  attention  to 
rumors  about  horse  stealing.  There  was  never  any 

*  This  story  is  republished  here  through  the  kindness  of 
Out  West,  in  which  magazine  it  was  first  printed  in  the  issue 
of  September,  1904,  under  the  title  "The  Red  Cow  Hide." 


2  WYLACKIE  JAKE  .OF  COVELO 

rumor  about  Jake  and  horses.  He  never  talked 
about  horses  except  in  a  straightforward,  honest 
way. 

All  of  the  above  insinuations  place  Jake  beford 
the  reader  in  a  bad  light,  and  cause  me  to  rush  to  his 
defense  lest  he  be  viewed  in  the  worst  possible  light, 
without  alternative.  After  a  careful  study  of  Jake, 
I  am  forced  to  believe  that  he  was  either  the  most 
consummate  artist  in  the  misuse  of  truth  that  ever 
lived  in  California,  or  else  he  was  what  he  posed  to 
a  sprouting  longhorn  like  myself — a  self-confessed 
felon.  Personally,  I  prefer  to  put  Jake  down  as  a 
liar,  but  am  not  dogmatic  about  it ;  nor  do  I  condemn 
him  very  harshly  if  the  classification  be  correct. 
Like  a  great  many  buckaroos,  he  was  very  talkative 
when  in  the  company  of  a  city-bred  hunter.  As  he 
had  not  seen  much  of  the  world,  and  hence  had  little, 
save  hearsay,  whereon  to  base  many  of  his  impres 
sions  and  opinions,  perhaps  he  had  been  forced  to 
draw  on  the  springs  of  his  imagination  for  conver 
sational  material.  If  you  had  never  been  perma 
nently  in  a  larger  town  than  Covelo,  with  its  209  in 
habitants,  its  five  saloons  and  no  reading  room,  and 
had  listened  from  early  boyhood  to  the  truthful  tales 
of  old  Mr.  Doyle,  President  of  the  Round  Valley 
Sportsmen's  Club,  you  would,  in  all  probability,  tell 
the  truth  in  a  greatly  magnified  form.  I  say  this  for 
Jake  in  advance,  by  way  of  extenuation,  if  the  reader 
conclude  that  Jake's  tale  herein  reported  was  a  prod 
uct  of  his  imagination,  as  I  believe  it  to  have  been. 

A  stage  driver  told  me  that  Jake  was  run  out  of 
Laytonville  for  shooting  hogs  because  he  didn't  like 


WRITTEN   IN  THE  DUST  3 

their  owner,  but  the  testimony  of  stage  drivers 
should  be  weighed  with  extreme  care.  Their  reputa 
tion  for  truth  in  the  community  where  they  reside  is 
bad.  Between  Rumor,  the  stage  driver,  Jake's  ap 
parent  frankness  and  my  observation  of  him,  I  am 
placed  in  doubt  as  to  his  real  character. 

But  one  thing  I  do  know  for  certain  about  Jake. 
He  knew  where  the  "big  bucks"  were.  The  people 
in  Covelo,  down  to  the  stage  driver,  "  'lowed"  this, 
and  they  "  'lowed"  right.  I  am  willing  to  forgive 
Jake  everything  he  told  on  himself  and  almost  every 
thing  the  stage  driver  told  me  about  him,  even  if 
true,  for  did  not  Jake  "place"  me  where  I  could  enjoy 
the  fierce  delights  of  the  wilderness  chase?  I  hired 
him  to  do  this  because  his  advertisement  promised  it, 
and  he  kept  his  promise.  When  I  hired  him  I  knew 
nothing  about  him  except  what  the  advertisement 
said,  and  if  I  went  out  to  Hammer  Horn  Mountain 
with  a  man  who  should  have  been  in  prison,  I  did 
not  know  it.  All  of  the  rumors  about  him  I  heard 
later.  The  rumors  to  a  certain  degree  corroborated 
what  Jake  told  me  himself,  and  of  that  let  the  fol 
lowing  witness : 

Jake  and  I  were  encamped  on  Thomas  Creek, 
at  the  base  of  Hammer  Horn.  He  called  it  "Tom's 
Crick."  The  map  of  the  Geological  Survey  shows 
the  name  to  be  "Thomas"  Creek,  but  that  was  not 
Jake's  fault.  I  was  watching  a  pot  of  boiling  beans 
when  my  dark-hued  guide  appeared  from  behind  the 
tent,  a  large  piece  of  rawhide  in  one  hand  and  an 
unfinished  pair  of  bridle  reins  in  the  other. 

"Where  did  you  get  that  piece  of  rawhide?"  I 
asked. 


4  WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

"Out  of  that  alfora,"  he  chuckled,  pointing. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  I,  "that  is  where  you  just 
got  it.  But  where  did  it  come  from  originally?" 

He  sat  down  on  the  cracker  box  and  commenced 
braiding  on  the  unfinished  pair  of  reins. 

"I  have  seen  some  fine  bridle  reins  in  my  time," 
said  I,  "but  those  you  are  working  on  double  dis 
count  all  previous  work  I've  seen." 

He  was  not  susceptible  to  compliments.  He 
grunted,  and  then,  after  a  long  pause,  said: 

"Perhaps  the  reason  these  bridle  reins  look  so 
well,  and  they  are  goin'  to  look  better  when  finished, 
is  because  I  know  what  kind  of  rawhide  to  make 
'em  out  of.  Now,  a  red  cow  yields  the  best  rawhide. 
Nobody  doubts  that  that  knows  it,  but  it  ain't  every 
body  that  knows  it.  The  colleges  don't  teach  it. 
You  see,  I  have  the  advantage  over  the  city  snoozers 
that  braids  reins  for  a  livin',  for  they  couldn't  al 
ways  get  a  red  hide,  even  if  they  was  onto  the  trick, 
while  I  always  can.  Some  times  in  gettin'  a  red 
cowhide  I've  almost  lost  my  own  pelt.  But  so  fur 
I've  managed  to  keep  out  of  the  way  of  mushroom 
and  other  breeds  of  bullets.  Gettin'  this  here  hide 
almost  made  me  a  regular  boarder  of  the  State. 
But  I  got  that  hide  for  a  dollar,  and  some  short 
horns  got  run  out  of  the  valley  for  a  bad  shot  they 
didn't  make. 

"Just  a  year  ago  now  I  needed  a  red  hide  like  a 
maverick  needs  brandin'.  Of  course  I  could  have 
gone  to  Jim  Harper's  store  and  bought  one,  but 
that's  too  tame  for  me.  What's  the  use  of  payin' 


WRITTEN  IN  THE  DUST  5 

for  things  when  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  go  and  get 
'em  ?  A  cow  now  and  then  ain't  missed  from  a  big 
band,  or  if  she  is,  an  old  bear  gets  the  credit  for 
puttin'  her  on  the  missin'  list.  I  yearned  for  a  little 
touch  of  high  life,  as  you  city  sports  say.  One  morn 
ing  early  I  lit  out  from  my  cabin,  glued  onto  that 
pinto  plug,  for  Leach  Lake  Mountain.  I  had  my  old 
44  Winchester  with  me,  because  I  didn't  know  but 
I  might  see  a  big  old  buck  during  the  day.  I  went 
past  Gray's  singin'  blithely  that  cow  song  with  the 
chorus, 

"  'An'  it's  hi  yippie  yea,  yea,  yea,' 
the  dogs  there  a  chimin'  in,  hit  the  trail,  crossed 
Williams  Creek  and  began  to  climb.  A  little  before 
noon  I  reached  Brown's  Camp.  There  was  three 
tenderfoot  men  a-campin'  there,  and  they  wanted 
to  know  would  I  stop  and  have  dinner.  Now  there 
are  three  things  I  can  always  do — drink,  eat  and 
smoke.  It  ain't  often  I  get  a  drink ;  and  them  short 
horns  did  shore  have  some  genuine  nectar.  Of 
course  I  stayed  and  ate.  As  soon  as  dinner  was 
over  the  three  shorthorns  said  they  were  a  goin'  to 
cross  the  canon  and  hunt  deer;  they  expected  to 
stay  for  the  evenin'  shootin',  and  would  I  care  to  go 
along.  I  told  them  I  had  to  go  and  hunt  cattle,  and 
would  they  excuse  me.  If  I  had  told  them  I  was 
going  to  hunt  cattle  I  would  have  been  nigher  to  the 
truth.  From  their  camp  I  urged  that  pinto  plug  on 
to  the  trail  and  made  my  way  to  the  divide  on  the 
north  end  of  Leach  Lake  Mountain.  Do  you  re 
member  that  place?" 
I  nodded. 


6  WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

"Well,  there  I  found  some  fresh  cow  tracks.  I 
took  up  the  trail  of  the  cows,  and  found  they  had 
back-tracked  the  horse  trail  some  little  distance  be 
low  it.  I  passed  the  head  waters  of  Williams  Creek, 
and  made  my  way  down  the  canon.  By  this  time 
it  was  beginning  to  get  late.  Once  or  twice  I  heard 
rifles  crack,  and  judged  that  my  tenderfoot  friends 
were  a-tryin'  to  make  game  scarcer.  I  looked  across 
the  canon  at  the  Horse  Pasture.  The  Horse  Pas 
ture,  as  you  know,  is  a  long  meadow-like  ridge  that 
runs  from  Brown's  Camp  down  to  Williams  Creek 
at  the  bottom  of  the  canon.  About  half  way  down 
is  a  big  spring  surrounded  by  wire  grass,  and  there 
I  expected  to  see  my  cows.  I  was  disappointed  at 
first,  for  I  didn't  see  nothin'  but  a  couple  of  white 
cows,  but  pretty  soon  a  big  red  cow  comes  a  hikin' 
out  into  the  openin'  from  behind  a  manzanita  bush. 
I  stuck  the  spurs  into  that  old  pinto,  crossed  that 
rough  crick  and  made  my  way  up  the  Horse  Pas 
ture.  Of  course  them  wild  range  cattle  was  off  like 
a  lot  of  big  bucks  when  a  hound  gets  after  'em. 
Cow  tails  was  just  nacherally  a  flyin'  in  there  as 
their  owners  skedaddled  for  the  thick  brush.  I  fol 
lowed,  and  it  was  no  easy  work,  either.  More'n  one 
buckaroo  has  had  his  topknot  cracked  in  that  coun 
try  while  buckarooin'.  There  was  Smiling  Dan.  He 
got  knocked  ofFen  his  horse  by  a  overhangin'  limb, 
and  never  saw  nothin'  but  angels  after  he  got  hit. 
And  Blue  Jay  Ford.  He  busted  his  foot  wide  open 
in  the  same  damn  old  brush  pile.  Pretty  soon  the 
old  pinto  come  up  close  to  the  runnin'  cows.  I  pulls 
my  old  44  out  of  the  scabbard  and  rides  up  alongside 


WRITTEN   IN  THE  DUST  7 

of  my  bridle  reins,  riata,  hackmore  material  and 
lets  a  little  sunshine  into  her.  She  just  keeled  over, 
and  that's  all  there  was  to  it.  I  lets  the  old  pinto's 
reins  hang  down,  stood  the  gun  up  again  a  pine  tree, 
and  starts  to  work  a  skinnin'.  I  had  just  finished  the 
job  when  I  happened  to  peer  through  the  brush, 
and  what  met  my  eyes  shore  gave  me  heart  action. 
Who  did  I  see  across  the  canon  a  ridin'  along  but 
Tom  Freeman,  one  of  Frank  Bell's  importations — a 
lily  white  except  when  full  of  conversation  water. 
The  cow  I  had  killed  had  Bell's  brand  on  her.  I 
could  see  Tom,  but  he  couldn't  see  me  unless  I 
moved  too  much.  I  didn't  move  any  too  much.  I 
rolls  up  the  hide,  grabbed  the  gun  and  dumb  up  on 
to  the  old  pinto  and  hiked  out  for  the  trail,  stealthy 
like.  The  backbone  of  the  Horse  Pasture  was  just 
covered  with  tenderfoot  tracks,  and  I  rode  right 
among  'em.  Of  course  Tom  seen  me,  as  I  thought 
he  would.  I  knowed  he  was  on  my  trail,  and  as  my 
trail  means  cowhide  or  rustlin',  he  was  follerin'  it. 
I  thought  if  I  come  right  out  he'd  come  right  after 
me,  and  so  overlook  the  measly  carcass.  Tom 
whooped,  and  I  whooped  back,  and  then  Tom  yelled 
for  me  to  wait,  but  the  echoes  in  that  canon  always 
did  make  me  hard  of  hearin'.  I -put  my  old  pinto  up 
to  his  best  gait,  but  he  ain't  no  genuine  fast  cloud  of 
dust,  and  besides  he  was  tired  with  the  day's  wan- 
derin',  and  soon  I  see  that  Tom  was  a  gainin'  on 
me.  I  didn't  want  to  lose  that  hide,  and  maybe  my 
own,  and  so  I  made  for  the  main  thoroughfare  for 
the  Valley  and  home.  I  rode  close,  and  the  old  pinto 
went  up  that  Horse  Pasture  just  a  diggin'.  I  makes 


8  WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

my  way  into  that  tenderfoot  rancheria,  which  the 
same  bein'  situate  on  a  small  flat.  By  this  time  my 
old  pinto  wasn't  frisky  like  a  young  lamb,  and  I  see 
I'd  have  to  lose  the  hide  or  be  nabbed  with  the  goods. 
My  hands  were  bloody,  but  I  could  explain  that  if 
pressed.  There  wasn't  no  tenderfoot  men  at  home, 
and  the  latch  string  was  a-hangin'  out ;  but  I  wasn't 
as  interested  in  that  as  I  was  in  a  clothesline  that  was 
a-hangin'  out,  too.  I  pulled  the  old  pinto  plug  up 
alongside  of  it  and  hung  my  red  cowhide  out  to  dry. 
Then  I  moved  on.  No,  I  didn't  leave  no  other  cyard. 
I  taken  and  made  my  way  to  the  Weaver-Round  Val 
ley  Trail  at  the  top  of  the  ridge. 

"Judas  Priest!  When  I  got  to  the  top  of  the 
ridge,  if  there  wasn't  a  big  old  four-point  buck 
a-standin'  with  his  head  in  the  air,  a-sniffin'  the 
evenin'  breeze.  Buck  meat  always  did  look  good  to 
me.  And  I  just  put  that  old  buck's  rockin'  chair 
head  on  to  the  ground  in  a  second.  I  guess 
I  could  explain  how  blood  come  on  my  hands  now.  I 
goes  down  to  where  he  was  a-kickin'  his  last,  and 
starts  to  dress  him,  when  up  rides  Tom  Freeman, 
his  bronco  just  a  pantin'  and  a  sweatin'. 

"  'Jake,  why  in  hell  didn't  you  stop  when  I  hol 
lered  at  you?'  he  says. 

"  'Was  you  a  hollerin'  at  me  ?'  says  I,  innocent 
like.  'I  thought  you  was  a  callin'  to  some  of  them 
shorthorn  hunters  or  a  talkin'  polite  to  stock,  and  so 
I  didn't  stop  to  investigate,'  says  I,  'whether  you 
wanted  me  or  not.' 

"  'What's  that  red  hair  a  doin'  on  your  shirt 
sleeve  ?'  says  he,  suddently. 


WRITTEN  IN  THE  DUST 


9 


"I  looked  at  my  shirt  sleeve  in  a  deliberate  man 
ner,  and  there  was  several  cow  hairs  on  it  from  that 
bridlereins  material. 

"  'That  ?  Oh,  that  must  be  some  hairs  ofFen  my 
horse,'  says  I. 

"  'Red  hair  off'en  a  pinto  horse,'  says  he,  a 
grinnin'.  'That's  a  good  one.  When  you  tell  a  lie, 
Jake,'  says  he,  'you  always  tell  a  damn  lie,  and  so 
audacious  like  that  it  makes  a  fellow  too  polite  for  to 
call  the  bluff.' 

"I  went  on  a  dressin'  the  buck. 

"  'Did  you  hear  any  shootin'  just  south  of  the 
Horse  Pasture  ?'  he  asks. 

"  'Yes.  I  heard  a  30  :30  go  off  down  in  there,' 
says  I. 

"  'Well,  I  heard  a  rifle  echo  from  over  in  there, 
and  it  was  from  black  powder.  You  didn't  shoot,  did 
you  ?' 

"  'Nope.  The  only  time  I've  shot  to-day  was  at 
this  here  buck.  But  thinkin'  again,'  I  says,  knockin' 
the  brim  of  my  Stetson  back,  'I  believe  maybe  I  did 
hear  a  black  powder  gun  go  off  down  there.  It  must 
have  been  Alf  Redfield  shootin' ;  he's  down  in  there 
to-day.' 

"  'That's  another  one  of  yours,  Jake.  Alf  ain't 
there  at  all.  I  met  him  and  Jim  Randolph  and  Ike 
Wharton  early  this  morning  at  the  foot  of  Wylackie 
Hill,  bound  for  Red  Mountain.' 

"  'Oh,  well,'  says  I,  'what's  there  strange  about 
who  fired  a  black  powder  gun  there  ?' 

"  'Nothin"  says  he,  'except  there's  a  fresh  cow 
carcass,  with  the  hide  off,  down  there,  and  your 


10       WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

horse's  tracks  around  the  place,  and  I'm  almost 
plumb  positive  I  heard  a  black  powder  gun  go  off 
down  there  about  a  hour  ago,  and  you've  got  a  black 
powder  gun,  an'  I  think  you're  the  man  I'm  after. 
I'm  a  goin'  to  take  you  to  Weaver,  Jake,'  he  says, 
after  a  pause,  'an'  turn  you  over  to  the  authorities  for 
shootin'  that  cow.' 

"  'No  you  ain't,  pardner,'  says  I,  quietly  turnin' 
the  buck  over  on  his  back,  a  holdin'  my  knife  betwixt 
my  teeth.  'I  don't  know  nothin'  about  your  damn 
old  cowhide  except  I  seen  it  a  hangin'  on  a  clothes 
line  down  at  that  shorthorn  wickiup.  This  time,  for 
once,  Tom,  you're  all  balled  up  on  the  tracks,  Tom. 
I  think  you'll  find  this  here  theery  of  the  case  is  about 
right,'  I  says,  rollin'  a  coffin  tack  and  lightin'  it.  I 
blew  out  a  cloud  of  smoke,  and  resooms;  'One  of 
them  shorthorns  must  'uv  killed  your  boss's  cow, 
thinkin'  it  was  a  deer.  That  very  thing  happened 
down  at  Long's  on  the  South  Fork  last  summer, 
when  a  citified  chap  with  a  new  gun  just  nacherally 
bought  more  beef  than  he  could  eat  at  one  sittin'. 
Tenderfoots  mistake  each  other  for  deer  all  the  time, 
and  a  cow  looks  more  like  a  deer  than  a  tenderfoot. 
I'll  bet  a  tenderfoot  or  Alf  Redfield  killed  your  cow.' 

"  Tour  theery  of  the  case  is  mighty  interestin'/ 
says  Tom,  'but  it  ain't  convincin'.  You  leave  some 
evidence  out  of  all  consideration;  and  as  for  Alf, 
why,  as  I  says,  I  seen  Alf  down  at  Wylackie  Hill/ 

"  'Well,'  says  I,  'Alf  Redfield  can  back  on  his 
tracks,  caint  he?' 

"He  didn't  pay  any  attention  to  this  question,  but 
says :  There's  a  line  of  your  horse's  tracks  a  leadin' 


WRITTEN  IN  THE  DUST  11 

from  that  cow  carcass  to  where  the  hide's  a  hangin', 
and  from  there  to  here,  and  you've  been  suspected  of 
this  here  same  business  before.' 

'*  'Well/  says  I,  in  a  injured  tone,  'I  do  hate  to 
have  anybody  doubt  my  honesty  and  word.' 

;<  'Oh,  hell,'  says  he,  sort  of  skeptical  like. 

"I  lifted  the  buck  into  the  saddle  and  began 
lashin'  him  onto  the  pinto. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,'  says  I.  Til  go  back  to  that 
shorthorn  outfit  with  you — and  they  were  shore 
enough  tenderfoots.  The  way  they  packed  a  mule! 
If  Johnnie  or  old  Mr.  Doyle  could  only  have  seen 
it !'  " 

Here  I  laughed. 

"You  throw  a  hitch  fair  to  middlin'  yourself,  but 
at  first  you  was  a  regular  lily  of  the  valley  at  the 
business.  Well,  them  tenderfeet's  packin'  was  rawer 
than  yours  ever  was.  They  packed  a  mule  so's  he 
looked  like  a  header  wagon.  I  says  to  him :  'I'll  go 
back  with  you  to  that  tenderfoot  place,  and  you'll  be 
convinced  that  I'm  as  innocent  of  what  you  charge 
me  with  as  Sam  Elaine  was  of  shootin'  old  Charlie 
Porter.' 

"  That's  a  likely  idea,'  he  says.  'If  you  are  that 
innocent  you  needn't  go  to  Weaver,  Jake.  We'll 
go  down  to  the  tenderfoot  camp.' 

"I  led  my  old  pinto  plug  loaded  with  the  deer, 
and  Tom  followed.  When  we  got  down  a  ways  I 
saw  a  campfire  through  an  openin'  and  heard  a  loud 
lafifing.  We  kept  on,  and  the  laffing  kept  on,  too, 
and  soon  we  came  to  the  camp.  Two  of  the  three 
city  chaps  was  still  a  laffin*. 


12  WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

"  'What's  the  joke,  pardners?'  says  Tom.  Tell 
it  to  me  and  my  friend  here,  so's  we  can  all  laugh.' 

"  'The  drinks  are  on  Bill/  says  the  fellow,  han 
dling  the  skillet  at  the  campfire.  'When  Frank  an'  I 
came  into  camp,  damn  me  if  Bill  wasn't  here  alone 
with  a  red  cowhide  a  hangin'  on  the  clothesline, 
lookin'  at  the  same  in  a  quizzical  manner.  Frank 
an'  I  killed  a  couple  of  big  deer  over  there  by  that 
granite  knob,  but  Bill  seems  to  'uv  killed  a  cow.' 
Here  he  burst  into  a  laugh,  an'  Frank  done  the  same. 
I  laughed  too.  Tom,  he  didn't  laugh,  but  acted  kind 
of  mad  like.  He  looked  at  the  hide,  to  see  if  it  was 
one  of  Bell's  cows,  an'  so  did  I.  I  knew  it  was  for 
certain  before  lookin',  but  I  had  a  part  to  play,  an' 
Tom  wanted  to  make  certain. 

"  'Which  way  did  you  come  up  ?'  says  Tom,  po 
litely  enough.  'Right  up  through  the  Horse  Pasture/ 
says  Bill.  Frank,  he  up  an'  says :  'Me  an'  Jack  come 
up  through  the  Horse  Pasture  an'  found  a  newly 
killed  cow  down  there,  an'  when  we  come  to  camp 
we  found  Bill  a  lookin'  at  this  here  cowhide  in  a 
quizzical  sort  of  a  way,  an'  we  think  Bill  killed  the 
animal.'  Here  they  both  laired  again. 

"I  felt  real  sorry  for  Bill.  Innocence  sufrerin' 
for  guilt  ain't  such  a  fine  sight  when  they  are  both 
together,  an'  innocence  don't  know  that  guilt  is  clost 
to  hand. 

"  'I  didn't  kill  that  cow/  says  Bill.  'I  come  up 
through  the  Horse  Pasture  about  an  hour  ago,  an' 
got  to  camp,  an'  stayed  here  a  while  an'  then  I  went 
to  the  spring,  an'  while  I  was  there  I  heard  a  couple 
of  fellers  a  hollerin',  an'  when  I  got  back  this  here 


WRITTEN   IN  THE  DUST  13 

cowhide  was  a  hangin'  on  the  line,  an'  I  could  see 
that  gentleman  there  on  the  bay  horse  a  goin'  up 
through  that  pine  thicket  towards  the  main  trail.  The 
tracks  of  two  horses  was  right  through  camp.' 

"  'Oh,  give  it  to  us  easy/  says  his  two  pardners. 

"  That's  what  I'm  a  doin'/  says  he. 

"  'Well,  gentlemen/  says  Tom.  'I  guess  your 
friend  Bill  here'll  have  to  pay  for  the  cow ;  he  seems 
to  know  more  about  it  than  anybody  else.  She  be 
longed  to  my  boss,  an'  I'll  give  you  a  receipt  for  the 
money.' 

'  'It  looks  as  if  you'll  have  to  pay/  said  Frank 
and  the  grub  wrangler  to  Bill. 

"  'Damn  if  I  pay  for  any  cow  I  didn't  kill/  says 
Bill.  'I'll  stand  a  lawsuit  first.' 

"  'You  might  stand  a  suit/  says  Frank,  'but  it's 
my  opinion  you'd  lose  it.  They  tell  me  the  only  man 
around  here  that  knows  anything  about  law  is  Jack 
Johnson,  an  ex-convict,  an'  he's  only  up  on  crim 
inal  law.  They  always  appoint  him  bailiff  when 
they's  a  case  on,  because  he  knows  how  to  maintain 
the  dignity  of  the  Court,  him  a  havin'  observed  the 
bailiff  in  the  Superior  Court  at  Ukiah.' 

"  'Yes/  said  the  cook  man,  'you  might  as  well 
pony  up,  you'll  get  the  rest  of  us  in  trouble  if  you 
don't.  Besides,  you  want  to  give  up  law  an'  go  into 
the  cattle  business,  an'  here's  a  chance  to  begin  on 
a  modest  scale — a  cow  carcass  an'  a  cowhide.' 

"  'You  fellows  stop  this  monkey  business  an'  dig 
up  that  money  right  away/  says  Tom.  'I've  got  to 
get  to  town  by  some  after  dark,  an'  I  cain't  waste 
no  more  time.' 


14  WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

"  'You  don't  really  mean  that  you  expect  Bill  to 
pay  for  that  cow,  do  you  ?'  says  Frank. 

"  That's  just  what  I  mean,'  says  Tom. 

"  'Well,  Mr.  Cowboy,'  says  Frank,  'we  ain't  a 
goin'  to  be  bluffed  into  payin'  for  a  cow  we  didn't 
kill.  That  feller  there  with  you,  with  the  blood  on 
his  hands,  looks  as  if  he  might  know  somethin'  about 
who  killed  the  cow.' 

"  'That's  buck's  blood/  says  I,  a  holdin'  up  my 
hands. 

"  Til  give  you  just  two  minutes  to  pay  for  that 
cow,'  says  Tom,  a  gettin'  off  his  horse,  'or  I'll  take 
the  whole  bunch  of  you  clear  to  Weaver  for  killin' 
that  cow,  an'  I  guess  you'll  find  it'll  be  cheaper  to  Day 
for  her  than  to  make  that  trip — it  a  bein'  over  a 
hundred  miles  by  trail.' 

"Tom  was  shore  a  throwin'  it  into  'em. 

"Tom  he  up  an'  says,  'Are  you  a  goin'  to  pay?' 
an'  with  that  he  put  his  hand  on  his  gun,  and  the 
shorthorn  called  Bill  up  an'  says,  'How  much  is  it  ?' 
an'  Tom  he  says,  'Thirty  dollars.' 

"  'Take  your  money/  says  Bill,  an'  Tom  took  it, 
an'  then  he  up  an'  says :  'Unless  you  fellows  want  to 
run  foul  of  some  of  the  Round  Valley  Boys,  I'd 
advise  you  to  hike  out  for  your  native  heath.  This 
here  white  man's  country  up  here  is  a  bein'  overrun 
every  summer  by  a  lot  of  shorthorns  that  doan't 
know  putty  from  beeswax.'  'Nor  deer  from  cows/ 
says  I,  'an'/  says  he,  'I'm1  a  gettin'  plumb  sick  an' 
tired  of  it/  says  he,  his  anger  a  risin'.  'You'll  have  to 
get  off'en  Bell's  land,  anyhow.  I'll  let  you  stay  till 
to-morrow  morninV 


WRITTEN   IN  THE  DUST  15 

"An'  with  that  Tom  rode  off.  I  a  havin'  the 
deer  on  my  horse  an'  no  mule  with  me,  had  to  walk 
down  the  mountain,  an'  so  I  didn't  go  with  Tom. 

"I  up  an'  says  to  Bill,  'How  much'll  you  take  for 
your  hide?'  'Oh,  shut  up!'  says  he.  'Now,  look 
here,'  says  I,  'perhaps  I'd  better  call  my  friend 
back  here.  I  ain't  a  lookin'  for  trouble,  but  if  you 
ain't  polite  to  me,  you  ain't  polite  to  him.  What 
injures  an'  degrades  me  has  its  effect  on  him.  An' 
unless  you  talk  to  me  real  civilized  like,  I'm  a  goin' 
to  call  him  back.  I  ain't  a  quick  an'  suddent  kind 
of  a  man,  while  he  is,  an'  does  the  fightin'  for  us 
both.' 

"  'Well/  says  Bill,  Til  take  a  dollar  for  the  hide.' 

'  'Done,'  says  I,  a  handin'  him  the  dollar  an'  him 
a  handin'  me  the  hide. 

"  'S'long,'  says  I  to  them,  an'  with  that  I  led  my 
horse  towards  the  trail. 

"The  next  day  I  met  Tom  in  front  of  the  Dewey 
just  at  stage  time.  Them  three  shorthorns  was 
there  ready  to  go,  an'  when  the  driver  cracked  the 
whip  an'  the  stage  wasn't  nothin'  but  dust,  Tom 
he  asked  me  to  come  in  an'  have  somethin'.  When 
we  had  had  a  couple  of  drinks,  Tom  looks  at  me  from 
under  his  shore  enough  Stetson  an'  says,  'Jake,  it's 
all  over  now,  but  didn't  you  shore  kill  that  cow  ?' 

''  'Tom,'  I  says,  real  solemn  like,  a  lookin'  at  him 
straight,  'you  just  write  that  question  in  the  dust 
an'  the  rain'll  settle  it.'  " 


A  MATCHMAKER    OF    THE    FOOTHILLS.* 

"Well,  'Long'  John,  how  are  you  and  your  girl 
getting  along?" 

"Long"  John  Jordan  blushed  slightly.  His  face 
was  so  tanned  and  weather-beaten  that  it  took  a 
very  deep  blush  to  make  a  slight  one. 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,  Mr.  Johnson,  we  ain't 
gettin'  along  at  all,  to  speak  of.  I  don't  seem  to 
be  making  any  headway,  and  I'm  almost  clean  dis 
couraged." 

He  looked  dejectedly  at  the  horn  of  his  saddle, 
and  rolled  his  quirt  between  his  hands. 

"Say,  Mr.  Johnson,"  he  burst  out,  impulsively, 
"they  tell  me  that  you're  pretty  expert  with  women 
— that  you  know  all  about  'em;  that  you  can  tell 
when  they're  foolin'  and  when  they're  in  earnest." 

Mr.  Johnson's  vanity  went  up  several  points. 
He  recalled  that  some  of  Jordan's  friends  thought 
him  a  "little  simple-minded,"  and  he  decided  to  see 
how  gullible  the  man  really  was.  He  hesitated  a 
moment,  and  then  said  in  a  confidential  tone:  "Yes, 
I  know  a  little  somethin'  about  'em,  havin'  been  mar 
ried  three  times.  I've  had  a  chance  to  do  a  little 
observin'.  But,"  he  added,  ruefully,  "I  don't  know 
all  about  'em,  and  neither  does  any  man.  Generally, 
just  when  you  get  one  rounded  up  and  are  ready  to 
throw  the  rope,  she  stampedes,  and  then  you  have 

*  Accepted  for  publication  by  "Sunset  Magazine.'' 


A  MATCHMAKER  OF  THE  FOOTHILLS        17 

to  begin  all  over  again.  It's  easier  to  round  up  a 
thousand  head  of  stock  than  one  woman/' 

"You  make  the  case  out  pretty  gloomy,"  said 
"Long"  John. 

"It  ain't  so  gloomy  as  you  think.  They  don't 
stampede  because  they  really  want  to  get  away; 
they  merely  want  to  see  if  you'll  follow.  If  you  do, 
you'll  finally  round  'em  up.  You've  got  to  keep  at  it, 
that's  all.  Now  look  at  the  case  of  Jim  Raglan. 
Jim  was  in  love  with  that  Daly  girl.  She  wouldn't 
have  anything  to  do  with  him,  to  speak  of.  I  knew 
the  Daly  girl,  and  I  knew  she  was  high-strung; 
that  the  man  that  got  her  would  have  to  be  the  ruler 
of  the  herd.  I  told  Jim  this,  and  showed  him  what 
he'd  have  to  do.  Jim  done  it,  and  she's  now  Mrs. 
Jim  Raglan.  And  that  ain't  the  only  one.  There 
was  Dutch  Bill  and  his  love  affair;  but  that's  too 
long  to  tell  here.  Bill  done  what  I  told  him  to  do, 
and  Bill  got  the  girl,  and  I've  got  Bill's  everlasting 
thanks  for  it  now.  I  may  have  Bill's  hate  for  it 
some  day,  but  I  ain't  got  it  yet." 

"Mr.  Johnson,  I've  heard  both  of  them  stories, 
heard  'em  from  Jim  and  from  Bill.  You  done  both 
of  them1  good  by  your  advice.  I  wish  you'd  interest 
yourself  and  help  me  as  you  helped  Jim  and  Bill." 

"Long"  John  had  never  before  been  confidential 
with  any  person  over  his  love  affairs.  He  had  al 
ways  maintained  a  sullen  silence,  or  had  burst  out 
into  fiery  expletives  when  chaffed  about  them,  in  inverse 
proportion  as  he  stood  in  awe  of  the  chaffer.  But 
here  was  a  man  in  whom  he  confided,  a  man  with 
whom  he  felt  at  perfect  liberty  to  talk  about  his 


18  WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

affairs.  Johnson  saw  that  he  was  making  progress, 
and  continued : 

"Young  man,  if  you  really  want  to  buckle  that 
girl  to  you,  I  can  tell  you  how  to  do  it, 

"Whoa,  there,  you  Jake,  ain't  you  had  enough  to 
eat  to-day?" 

He  jerked  the  reins,  and  the  horse  threw  his  head 
up  and  champed  wildly  at  the  bit. 

He  perceived  by  the  look  in  Jordan's  weather- 
beaten  countenance  that  he  wanted  to  "buckle"  the 
girl  to  him,  and  accordingly  resumed : 

"I've  known  Alice  Thomas  all  her  life.  She  ain't 
hardly  the  girl  for  you ;  but  since  you're  in  love  with 
her,  that  doesn't  make  any  difference  to  you.  I'll 
pass  that  fact  by,  and  assume  she  is." 

"Long"  John  turned  his  face  away  and  looked 
over  the  wide  expanse  of  plain,  with  the  snow 
capped  mountains  in  the  distance. 

"She's  a  girl  that's  kind  of  stuck  up ;  that  is,  you 
think  so  till  you  know  her.  She's  read  a  lot  of  them 
old  romances,  and  she's  more  stuck  on  some  of  the 
trim,  well-dressed  heroes  she's  read  about  than  she 
is  on  any  cow  puncher  around  here.  But  your  case 
ain't  hopeless.  I  understand  Alice  ain't  showed  that 
you're  the  only  man  in  the  world  for  her,  but  she 
hasn't  fired  you  entirely,  and  when  a  girl  don't  do 
that  there's  some  hope.  Now  you  are  a  cattleman, 
aren't  you  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Jordan,  "I'm  a  cattleman  and  cow 
puncher  rolled  together." 

"Well,  you  don't  look  like  one.  Where  is  your 
blue  flannel  shirt,  with  the  red  silk  handkerchief? 


A  MATCHMAKER  OF  THE  FOOTHILLS        19 

Your  hat  looks  as  though  it  had  been  used  as  a 
drinking  cup.  And  where  are  your  chaps  with  the 
fringes  on,  and  where  is  your  gun — man,  where  is 
your  gun  ?  Don't  you  know  that  women  admire  the 
bold,  free-and-easy  chap?  They  like  neatness,  and 
insist  that  a  man  look  and  act  his  part.  You  don't 
look  your  part,  and  you  don't  act  it.  Now,  I'll  tell 
you  what  to  do.  The  next  time  you  go  to  town,  you 
buy  a  big  gun  and  a  'shore  enough'  Stetson;  fit 
yourself  up  like  a  roaring  cowboy.  Then  get  on 
your  horse,  and  when  you  get  to  within  about  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  of  the  Thomas  house,  spur  him 
into  a  run,  and  yell  and  take  on  some.  Sing  a 
roundelay  if  you  can.  Women  admire  the  chirping 
troubador.  If  the  dog  runs  out,  take  a  shot  at  him, 
and  if  you  kill  him,  so  much  the  better.  He  caused 
my  team  to  run  away  the  other  day.  What  you  want 
to  do  is  to  fix  up  so  you'll  look  real  Texas  like.  Act 
your  part.  Just  raise  hell  and  put  a  chunk  under  it. 
Do  as  I've  told  you  and  you'll  win.  I  must  go  on, 
so  long.  Don't  forget  the  dog."  Johnson  rode 
away,  chuckling  to  himself.  Jordan,  deeply  im 
pressed,  spurred  up  his  horse. 

*  *  *  *  * 

It  was  almost  sundown,  and  the  mountain  sides 
were  putting  on  their  cloaks  of  shadow.  Through 
the  space  between  the  high  peaks  the  red  rays  of  the 
sun  glowed,  and  the  fields  of  eternal  snow  were 
slowly  incarnadined.  Near  by  the  trees  shook  in 
the  breeze,  crows  cawed  and  magpies  chattered  on 
their  way  to  roost.  The  air  was  vocal  with  the 
noises  of  the  barnyard — the  loud  bawling  of  calves, 


20  WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

the  cackling  of  geese,  and  the  shrill,  fiendish  shriek 
of  the  guinea  hen. 

Miss  Alice  Thomas  sat  on  the  front  porch,  ab 
sorbed  in  a  story ;  one  of  the  ranch  dogs  was  curled 
up  at  her  feet.  Far  down  the  winding  road  a 
horseman  came  toward  the  Thomas  house.  He  was 
gotten  up  in  true  cowboy  style.  On  his  head  was  a 
"shore  enough  Stetson" ;  a  45-caliber  six-shooter 
was  in  his  cartridge  belt.  His  saddle  was  silver 
mounted,  and  long  tapaderos  hung  from  the  stir 
rups.  He  looked  "Texas  like." 

Of  a  sudden  he  spurred  his  horse  from  a  trot 
into  a  lope,  and  from  a  lope  into  a  run.  The  horse's 
hoofs  pattered  on  the  hard  road,  and  dust  followed 
in  his  wake. 

"Hy  ah,  whoop  ee!"  yelled  the  rider.  Fence 
posts  sped  by,  and  the  rider  rapidly  approached  the 
ranch.  Miss  Thomas  looked  up.  The  horseman 
drew  nearer.  He  sang: 

"Then  the  bronc'  began  to  pitch, 

And  I  began  to  ride ; 
He  bucked  me  off  a  cut  bank, 

Well,  I  nearly  died!" 

The  dog  arose,  the  hair  on  his  back  bristled,  his 
tail  straightened ;  he  began  to  growl. 

"Whoop  ee!"  yelled  the  rider.  The  girl  stood 
up,  her  mother  came  rushing  to  the  porch.  The  dog 
ran  to  the  gate. 

"Whoopee!" 

"Who  is  that  drunken  idiot,  Alice  ?" 


A  MATCHMAKER  OF  THE  FOOTHILLS        21 

"I'm  not  sure,  mother,  but  I  think  it's  Mr.  Jor 
dan." 

The  dog  ran  swiftly  up  the  road  to  meet  the  dis 
turber  of  the  peace,  barking  savagely. 

"Whoop  la !"  yelled  the  rider.  The  dog  snapped 
at  the  horse's  heels.  The  rider  drew  his  revolver, 
took  aim  at  the  dog,  and  fired.  A  startled  yelp 
greeted  the  explosion,  and  the  dog  rolled  over  in  a 
heap.  The  man  rode  to  the  gate,  and,  checking  his 
horse,  suddenly  leaped  from  the  saddle  and  started 
up  the  walk  leading  to  the  porch. 

Mother  and  daughter  walked  forth  to  meet  him. 

"What  kind  of  carryin'  on  is  this,  Mr.  Jordan  ?" 
asked  Mrs.  Thomas.  "I  don't  see  any  occasion  for 
you  taking  on  this  way.  What  do  you  want  to  come 
riding  up  here  like  a  wild  man  for  ?" 

Mr.  Jordan  removed  his  hat. 

"Well,  now,  Mrs.  Thomas,  you  see " 

"No,  I  don't  see.  I  want  to  know  what  you  mean 
by  carrying  on  in  such  a  way." 

Miss  Thomas  was  thinking.  She  had  never  be 
fore  seen  a  man  who  so  completely  looked  his  part. 
Many  of  the  men  around  pretended  to  be  cowboys, 
but  none  of  them  looked  it  as  Mr.  Jordan  did.  Mr. 
Jordan's  fringed  chaps,  his  blue  flannel  shirt  and  the 
red  silk  handkerchief  carefully  knotted  around  his 
neck  certainly  proclaimed  his  calling.  His  short 
clipped  mustache  gave  him  a  daring  look.  His  sinu 
ous  muscles  moved  with  easy  grace.  He  had  the 
look  of  a  man  who  could  do  things.  Perhaps  she 
had  been  mistaken  in  her  estimate  of  him.  Perhaps 
he  was  more  of  a  man  than  she  had  given  him 
credit  for. 


22  WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

"Now  look  what  you've  done — you've  killed  poor 
Caesar  out  there,"  she  heard  her  mother  say. 

A  smile  crossed  Jordan's  lips. 

"It's  no  laughing  matter.  We  don't  live  in 
Texas,  and  I'd  like  to  know  what  you  mean,  fixing 
up  in  such  an  outlandish  manner  here  in  California ; 
and  why  did  you  kill  Caesar  ?" 

"Now,  mother,  don't  be  too  hard  on  John,"  said 
Alice.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  called  him 
John. 

"Thank  you,  Alice,  for  taking  my  part,"  he  said. 
It  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  dared  call  her  Alice. 

"I  don't  thank  you  for  it,  Miss  Thomas,"  said  her 
mother. 

"Won't  you  come  and  sit  on  the  porch  awhile, 
John  ?"  asked  the  girl. 

"I'm  sorry  I  killed  Caesar,  ma'am,"  said  Jordan 
to  the  mother. 

"I'm  glad  you  did,"  said  Alice.  "He  has  always 
annoyed  people  by  running  out  and  barking.  He 
caused  Mr.  Johnson's  team  to  run  away  the  other 
day.  I'm  glad  you  killed  him." 

The  mother  haughtily  withdrew  to  the  house. 

The  next  day  Jordan  met  Mr.  Johnson. 

"Well,  how'd  you  come  out?"  was  the  question 
of  the  latter. 

"Oh,  said  Jordan,  smiling,  "  'love  me,  love  my 
dog'  isn't  the  rule  in  this  country." 


WHEN   UNDERSTANDING   CRIED   ALOUD 
AT   "FRYING   PAN."* 

Wylackie  Jake  and  I  were  seated  on  a  boulder 
near  the  summit  of  Hammer  Horn.  I  was  getting 
my  breath  back  after  our  long  and  tiresome  climb. 
Jake  was  rolling  a  cigarette. 

"It  begins  to  dawn  on  me,"  said  I,  "that  we've 
had  a  tough  climb  of  it." 

"Without  meanin'  no  offense,"  said  he,  "you  re 
mind  me  of  some  people  that  doan't  never  under 
stand  a  thing  until  they've  been  through  it.  Now 
you  ought  to  a  knowed  that  this  here  mountain'd  be 
a  mean  climb  by  lookin'  at  it ;  but  you  come  right 
along  with  me  without  doin'  any  investigatin'  your 
self,  an'  now  that  you're  up  here,  you  begin  to  talk 
about  it  a  comin'  slowly  over  your  system  that  you've 
had  a  tough  climb." 

He  paused,  finished  rolling  his  cigarette  and  blew 
out  a  cloud  of  smoke.  I  looked  over  the  vast  ex 
panse  of  mountain  waste.  All  around  us  were  moun 
tains  piled  o-n  mountains,  vast  tracts  of  forest  verd 
ure—a  wilderness  ocean  mingling  with  the  blue  sky. 

*  This  story  is  republished  here  through  the  kindness  of 
the  San  Francisco  Argonaut,  in  which  weekly  it  was  first 
printed  in  the  issue  of  April  25, 1904,  under  the  title  of  "  The 
Big  Red  Steer." 


24  WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

"Your  condition  of  mind  an'  your  remark  you 
just  tooted  forth,"  said  my  guide,  "reminds  me  of  a 
little  happenin'.  You  see  that  ridge  away  to  the 
south  there?" 

I  assented. 

"That's  where  pretense  an'  sham  stops,"  he  con 
tinued.  "Over  beyond  it  is  a  little  mean  world 
where  men  pretend  they're  good  an'  honest  an'  up 
right,  and  nobody  there's  got  the  nerve  for  to  call 
their  bluff.  An'  so  they  go  through  life  a  sayin' 
what  they  doan't  think,  an'  a  thinkin'  what  they 
doan't  say.  They  gold  brick  the  widow  an'  the 
orphan  an'  the  poor  into  believin'  that  they've  shore 
got  their  interests  at  heart,  when  their  own  interests 
is  all  they're  a  lookin'  out  for.  They  use  biled  shirts 
an'  white  ties  an'  silk  hats  as  part  of  their  tools. 

"On  this  side  of  that  ridge  a  man's  rated  at  what 
he  is.  There  ain't  so  much  crowdin'  an  tramplin', 
an'  you  can  stand  off  a  hundred  yards  an'  study  your 
friends  an'  acquaintances  an'  enemies.  This  a  bein' 
so,  everybody  gets  rated  proper.  So  long  as  you're 
quick  an'  clever  here  you'll  get  along,  but  you 
mustn't  never  make  a  botch  of  what  you're  about. 
We  all  here'll  stand  anything  but  failure.  Now,  I'm 
a  rustler  by  occupation.  Everybody  in  Round  Valley 
knows  it  one  way  an'  another,  an'  I  don't  deny  it ;  but 
does  that  put  me  under  ground?  Shore  not.  I've 
never  been  seen  a  rustlin',  an'  I've  never  been  caught 
with  the  goods.  Consequence  is,  I'm  set  down  as  a 
successful  man.  If  I  done  petty  or  mean  stealin'  I'd 
shore  get  caught,  an'  probably  have  a  piece  of  hemp 
put  around  my  lily  white  neck  an'  a  crowd  of  ad- 


WHEN  UNDERSTANDING  CRIED  ALOUD      25 

mirin'  friends  at  the  other  end,  an'  the  limb  of  a  tree 
as  my  roostin'  place.  When  it  was  all  over  them 
same  friends  'd  put  me  down  as  a  victim  of  luck. 

"But  I'm  a  successful  rustler  on  a  big  scale. 
Over  on  the  other  side  of  the  ridge  if  I  done  petty  or 
aggravatin'  stealin'  they'd  send  me  to  jail  an'  look 
down  on  me.  But  if  I  corralled  a  million  or  so  of 
somebody  else's  dollars,  no  matter  what  way,  an' 
give  some  of  it  to  a  college,  I'd  have  my  phiz  in  the 
papers,  an'  a  statute  in  a  square.  If  I  done  the 
things  over  there  I  do  here  they'd  say  I  was  tough 
instead  of  ratin'  me  as  a  man  no  worse  than  the  next 
one  if  he  had  my  nerve.  All  of  which  leads  me  to 
again  say  that  whatever  you  do  out  here  do  it  well, 
or  don't  do  it  at  all.  If  you're  a  goin'  to  sell  liquor 
to  Injuns,  do  up  the  job  right.  Don't  bluff  about  it 
nor  theorize  nor  temporize.  Just  sell  it  to  'em.  If 
you're  a  goin'  to  rustle,  why  rustle  along  the  lines 
that  common  sense  dictates  is  best.  This  all  leads  me 
to  what  I'm  a  goin'  to  tell  you  about. 

"They's  quite  a  bunch  of  fellows  that  works  for 
Frank  Bell  that  thinks  they're  better'n  the  rest  of 
us  around  here.  They  all  air  quick  on  the  trigger, 
good  buckaroos  an'  first-class  bronco  twisters.  But 
they've  got  a  lot  of  ideas  that  ain't  native  to  the 
soil  here,  an'  that's  where  the  trouble  comes  in.  They 
shore  has  it  in  for  rustlers  like  me  an'  Alf  Redfield. 
Tom  Freeman,  an'  Jack  Wilson,  an'  Ernie  Mason, 
an'  Sam  Blaine  is  always  a  lookin'  for  Wylackie 
Jake  an'  Alf  Redfield  signs.  Me  an'  Alf  knows  the 
mountains  thoroughly.  We  doan't  need  no  land 
marks.  That's  where  we've  got  the  best  of  the  other 


26  VVYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

fellers — all  but  Ernie  Mason,  him  a  bavin'  herded 
sheep  from  North  Yallo  Bally  to  Sanhedrin,  knows 
the  mountains  first  class. 

"One  time  them  four  fellows  was  out  a  roundin' 
up  some  of  Bell's  stock,  an'  somehow  or  other  they 
got  the  idea  into  their  noodles  that  me  an'  Alf  had 
rustled  a  big  red  steer — the  prince  of  the  band.  For 
onct  me  an'  Alf  was  as  innocent  as  I  was  of  tryin' 
to  bushwhack  ol'  Jack  Johnson  the  time  they  had  me 
up  for  that.  Me  an'  Alf  was  a  huntin'  away  over  on 
Windy  Mountain,  an'  them  four  buckaroos  was  a 
makin'  Joe  Meder's  cabin  on  Frying  Pan  Flat  their 
headquarters.  They  come  out  boldly  an'  accused  me 
an'  Alf  of  concealin'  the  steer.  I  told  'em  we  didn't 
know  what'd  become  of  their  old  longhorn,  an'  that  I 
hoped  the  day'd  come  when  that  fact'd  be  brought 
home  to  'em  real  suddently.  I  knowed  they  didn't, 
or  wouldn't  believe  a  word  of  what  I  told  'em,  an'  so 
I  hoped  for  somethin'  real  stunnin'  in  the  divulgin' 
line. 

"They's  some  people  that  doan't  seem  to  be  able 
to  round  up  nothin'  proper.  You  have  to  go  at  'em 
like  you  was  a  goin'  quartz  minin'.  You  have  to  dig 
through  their  hair,  an'  then  you  have  to  drill  through 
their  skull,  an'  then  set  off  a  big  blast  of  giant 
powder  where  the  thinker  works,  before  you  can 
make  'em  understand.  Some  people  just  nacherally 
has  to  have  the  whole  universe  put  into  a  uproar 
before  they'll  learn  anything.  You  shore  has  to  arm 
yourself  with  a  scaritlin'  an'  knock  'em  down  before 
they'll  believe  anything.  I  doan't  like  people  that's 
hard  of  hearin'.  I'm  down  on  mutes,  an'  I  ain't  got 


WHEN  UNDERSTANDING  CRIED  ALOUD      27 

no  use  for  gabblers.  These  here  people  that  acts 
wise  because  they  doan't  know  no  better  hadn't 
ought  to  be  allowed  around. 

"Me  an'  Alf  had  a  sneakin'  idea  where  the  steer 
was,  but  we  all  decided  to  find  him  an'  bring  him 
home  to  the  lilies  of  the  valley  in  a  startlin'  way, 
rather  'an  to  tell  'em  about  our  idea.  We  talked  the 
matter  over  an'  decides  that  we'd  hit  the  under- 
standin'  of  them  fellows  about  the  same  way  a 
mushroom  bullet  hits  a  buck,  an'  that's  a  hittin'  in 
a  suddent  sort  of  a  way. 

"So  the  next  afternoon  me  an'  Alf  went  out  to 
hunt  the  big  red  steer.  I  thought  I  knowed  where 
he  was,  an'  so  we  didn't  waste  no  time  a  lookin'  an' 
circlin'  around  for  his  tracks.  I  knowed  he  was 
somewhere  in  Cottonwood  Canon.  That  wouldn't  be 
very  useful  information  to  everybody,  because  Cot 
tonwood  Canon  ain't  got  no  bottom  to  it,  an'  it's  all 
cut  up  with  rock  slides,  an'  timber  patches,  an' 
precipices,  an'  boulders,  an'  brush  thickets.  Why, 
you  could  put  a  thousand  big  red  steers  in  there  an' 
not  find  hide  nor  hair  of  'em  unless  you  was  a  shore 
expert  buckaroo.  I  knowed  the  steer  was  in  the 
vicinity  of  a  big  deer  lick  a  long  way  down,  for  I'd 
seen  him  there  several  times  while  huntin'.  If  Tom 
an'  Jack  an'  Ernie  an'  Sam  'd  treated  me  like  one 
man  to  another,  I'd  a  told  'em  where  he  was.  But 
when  a  fellow  accuses  me  of  stealin'  when  I  ain't 
guilty,  I'm  not  a  goin'  out  of  my  way  to  help  him 
round  up  what  he's  a  huntin'  for. 

"Me  an'  Alf  slid  down  into  that  canon  pretty  fast. 
Our  horses  shore  had  to  dig  into  the  loose  rock  to 


28  WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

keep  from  goin'  down  a  flyin'.  They  grunted,  an' 
sweated,  an'  snorted,  an'  coughed.  After  a  mighty 
long  time  we  all  come  close  up  to  the  deer  lick. 
Three  or  four  ol'  does  with  their  fawns,  an'  a  young 
buck  or  two  hiked  out  like  sixty.  I  looks  around, 
an'  up  on  the  mountain  side  across  the  creek  was 
the  hunk  of  beef  with  the  red  hide  on.  He  was  a 
sniffin'  an'  lookin'  around,  the  way  a  steer  will.  I 
give  a  whoop  an'  rode  at  him,  an'  he  rolled  his  tail 
for  the  high  spots,  an'  me  an'  Alf  a  follerin',  hollerin' 
like  a  couple  of  buck  Injuns  at  a  Injun  dance.  That 
steer  just  nacherally  seemed  to  think  that  all  buck- 
aroos  in  the  Valley  was  a  chasin'  him,  an'  he  just 
run  to  beat  hell.  My  pinto  ain't  very  young,  but  he's 
old  enough  to  understand  the  ways  of  a  two-year-ol' 
steer.  A  horse  doan't  have  to  be  very  well  up  in 
years  to  be  able  to  do  that.  Of  course  the  steer  run 
in  the  wrong  direction.  They  always  do.  My  old 
pinto  makes  a  circle  to  head  him  off,  an'  Alf 's  roan 
done  the  same.  It  was  risky  business.  If  you  ain't 
been  in  Cotton  wood  Canon  you  doan't  know  how  it 
lays.  They's  only  one  canon  in  all  this  here  country 
that's  rougher,  an'  that's  Devil's  Canon,  off  east  of 
Red  Mountain.  Our  broncos  was  in  danger,  an'  we 
was  in  danger  all  the  time.  A  mis-step  might  uv  put 
us  on  the  list  of  missin'.  After  a  long  run  I  got  just 
above  the  steer,  an'  like  a  fool  throws  my  rope  over 
his  horns.  My  horse  stops  short,  the  way  a  cow 
horse  should,  an'  set  back  on  his  tail,  an'  the  big  red 
steer  stopped  like  a  choo  choo  that's  run  into  a 
boulder  on  the  track.  His  suddent  stop  pulls  my 
horse  down  the  steep  mountain  side,  an'  afore  I 


WHEN  UNDERSTANDING  CRIED  ALOUD      29 

knowed  it  I  found  myself  a  slidin'  just  in  front  of 
the  horse.  We  was  both  aimed  straight  for  the 
steer.  He  wasn't  a  gettin'  up  in  a  quick  an'  lively 
manner.  Fact  was,  the  shock  had  almost  knocked 
his  daylights  out.  Alf  come  a  tearin'  an'  whoopin' 
an'  scairt  the  life  back  into  the  steer,  an'  he  come 
right  for  me  's  soon  as  he  could  get  up.  I  pulls  my 
gun  an'  was  a  goin'  to  kill  some  fresh  beef,  when  Alf 
let  his  rope  fly  an'  caught  the  long-lost  steer  around 
the  neck.  He  wasn't  active  an'  agile  like  after  Alf 
give  him  a  yank  that  pulled  his  props  out  from  under 
him.  I  gathered  myself  an'  my  horse  together  an' 
rides  behind  the  docile  animal,  the  same  a  havin'  his 
eyes  a  bulgin'  out  an'  his  tongue  a  stickin'  forth. 
When  he  draws  back  I  cracks  him  in  the  flank  with 
my  shore  enough  Stetson. 

"Now  we  was  shore  like  rustlers,  an'  if  our 
friends  had  a  come  along  we'd  a  been  catched  in  such 
a  way  we  couldn't  a  had  nothin'  to  say.  But  we 
knowed  them  fellows'd  gone  to  North  Yallo  Bally 
that  day,  an'  so  we  was  as  safe  from  'em  as  from 
the  Sheriff,  him  a  bein'  in  Red  Bluff,  seventy  miles 
away.  We  drove,  an'  led  our  steer  along  as  if  it  was 
a  suckin'  calf.  Onct  in  a  while  he'd  try  some  funny 
business,  but  by  the  time  his  ol'  topknot  cracked  the 
ground  four  or  five  times  he  seen  he  was  up  against 
a  couple  of  buckaroos  that  shore  knowed  their 
business.  We  led  and  drug  him  up  out  of  the  canon 
an'  acrost  the  Saddle,  an'  then  over  on  the  south  side 
of  Windy.  We  finally  got  him  to  our  camp  an'  tied 
him  to  a  pine  tree,  where  he  bellered  an'  bawled  an' 
pawed  the  dust.  We  all  got  supper,  an'  then  I  told 


80  WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

Alf  to  turn  in  an'  let  me  set  by  the  fire  an'  figure  out 
how  to  bring  it  home  to  Tom  an'  Jack  an'  Ernie  an' 
Sam  that  they  was  mistaken  about  us  a  takin'  the 
steer.  Alf  knowed  I'd  think  up  some  startlin'  way. 
Him  an'  me  has  butted  around  together  so  long  that 
each  has  implicit  confidence  in  the  other  on  such  a 
layout.  So  Alf  rolled  up  in  his  blankets  an'  com 
menced  to  saw  logs,  while  me  an'  the  big  red  steer 
sat  up  an'  ruminated  about  how  we'd  surprise  the 
boys  at  Joe  Meder's  cabin  the  next  morning.  I  sat 
on  a  log  in  front  of  the  fire  an'  rolled  cigarettes  an' 
looked  into  the  bright  flame,  a  thinkin'  an'  a  figurin'. 
I  guess  I  figured  on  nigh  onto  fifty  schemes,  an'  none 
of  'em  didn't  suit.  I  was  just  about  ready  to  give 
up  an'  let  the  steer  loose,  when  a  idea  struck  me  that 
was  so  good  an'  genuine  I  near  hugged  myself. 
That's  the  way  with  ideas.  A  lot  of  measly,  ornery 
ones  come  a  troopin'  down  the  trail  a  sendin'  up  dust, 
an'  a  makin'  noise,  bellerin'  an'  bawlin',  an'  you  shore 
decides  they  ain't  any  of  'em  worth  roundin'  up,  an' 
after  a  while  when  the  dust's  cleared  away,  along 
comes  one  about  sixteen  hands  high,  weighin'  about 
1,200  pounds,  with  his  hide  all  shinin'  an'  a  good 
light  in  his  eye,  an'  you  shore  lets  your  rope  fly,  an' 
makes  him  yourn.  That  was  the  way  it  was  with 
me.  I  kicked  the  fire  so's  it  flared  up,  rolled  a  final 
coffin  tack,  an'  then  went  to  snoozin'  on  my  spruce 
bough  bed. 

"Away  early  I  wakes  up  an'  kicks  Alf  out,  an5 
told  him  to  help  me  prepare  for  an  early  morning 
surprise  party  over  at  Joe  Meder's  cabin.  Alf 
growled  about  me  a  gettin'  him  up  at  such  an  tin- 


WHEN  UNDERSTANDING  CRIED  ALOUD      31 

earthly  hour,  but  I  says,  'Alf,  if  my  idea's  a  goin'  to 
be  carried  out  we've  got  to  get  over  to  the  cabin 
mighty  early  an'  before  any  of  them  boys  is  a  stirrin'. 
After  we  get  there,  if  my  theories  is  carried  out 
they'll  be  a  stirrin'  an'  steppin'  around  pretty  lively. 
We'll  furnish  the  beef  for  the  surprise  breakfast,  an' 
the  boys  over  there  can  put  up  the  flapjacks  an' 
coffee.' 

"Alf  he  wanted  me  to  tell  him  all  about  it,  but 
I  wouldn't  give  my  plan  away  even  to  him.  I  told 
him  to  do  just  as  I  told  him,  an'  he  would  shore  get 
animation  for  his  money.  Alf  knowed  I  was  a  givin' 
it  to  him  straight,  an'  he  closed  up  as  tight  as  a  old 
bear  in  a  tree  middle  of  winter.  We  cinched  our 
saddles  onto  our  horses  an'  then  rode  over  to  see  how 
our  captive  prince  was  a  gettin'  on.  He  was  shore 
mighty  ugly,  but  me  an'  Alf  was  uglier.  Whenever 
you  run  up  against  somethin'  that  doan't  just  under 
stand  your  ways,  an'  backs  up  an'  balks  an'  rairs 
an'  paws  the  air,  just  back  up  an'  balk  an'  rair  an' 
paw  the  air  worse  than  it  does,  an'  it'll  walk  right 
up  an'  eat  out  of  your  hand.  Shore,  that's  a  good 
workin'  rule. 

"I  slipped  the  noose  off'en  the  tree,  an'  Mr.  Steer 
give  a  jump  like  he  was  a  howlin'  cougar  a  lookin' 
for  fawn  meat.  I  was  a  expectin'  some  such  move, 
an'  so  was  my  old  pinto,  an'  the  steer  wasn't  a  lookin' 
for  ugly  action  from  us.  When  he  jumped,  my  old 
pinto  sat  right  down  on  his  haunches.  I  wraps  the 
riata  around  the  horn  of  the  saddle,  an'  the  steer 
stood  on  his  head  like  he  was  an  acrobat.  He  got 
up  an'  looked  kind  of  cowed,  which  was  proper,  him 
a  belongin'  to  the  cow  family. 


32  WYLACKIE  JAKE   OF  COVELO 

"1  told  Alf  to  bring  my  red  blanket,  an'  Alf  never 
asked  what  for.  He  done  just  as  I  told  him.  We 
all  drove  an'  led  the  steer  up  Windy  from  the  south 
an'  then  down  toward  Frying  Pan  Flat.  Joe  Meder's 
cabin  is  at  the  north  end  of  the  Flat,  an'  faces 
south. 

''The  stars  had  just  closed  up  for  the  day,  an' 
a  bluejay  began  a  jawin'  at  a  chipmunk.  Our  old 
steer  wasn't  very  much  on  the  fight  by  now,  but  I 
'lowed  before  we  got  done  with  him  he'd  be  most 
ready  to  charge  a  snarlin'  old  grizzly.  I  led  the  meat 
up  to  within  about  a  hundred  feet  of  the  cabin  door, 
an'  then  turned  the  riata  over  to  Alf..  I  now  gets 
ofFen  my  old  pinto  an'  leads  him  over  behind  some 
pine  trees  an'  left  him  a  standin'. 

:'  'Now,  Alf/  I  whispers,  'you  give  me  that  red 
blanket.'  Alf  done  it.  'Now  slip  the  riata  loose.' 
Alf  done  that.  'Now  hike  to  them  pines  an'  watch 
the  proceedinV  Alf  left  me.  The  steer  he  didn't 
know  just  what  to  do.  I  remembers  now  about 
Spanish  and  Mexican  bull  fights,  an'  shore  decides  to 
import  one  to  Frying  Pan  Flat,  California.  The 
steer,  he  just  pawed  the  dust  up  a  instant,  an'  put 
his  head  down  an'  come  for  me.  I  run  as  fast  as  a 
buckaroo  can  run,  and  the  steer  come  a  chargin'.  I 
made  my  way  right  toward  the  door  of  the  little  log 
cabin,  the  steer  right  behind.  He  wasn't  ten  feet 
from  the  door,  an'  I  give  the  blanket  a  final  wave 
right  in  front  of  him,  an'  dodged  behind  the  cabin. 
Him  a  havin'  his  eyes  shut,  he  just  nacherally 
knocked  the  door  right  in  as  if  he  was  a  batterin' 
ram,  an'  I  guess  he  just  plowed  through  that  cabin. 


WHEN  UNDERSTANDING  CRIED  ALOUD      33 

I  made  my  way  toward  the  clump  of  pines  where  my 
horse  was,  the  steer  a  bellerin'  somethin'  frightful 
meanwhile.  When  I  got  to  my  horse,  I  looked 
around,  and  what  met  my  eyes  was  shore  a  pleasin' 
sight  to  me.  Tom  Freeman  come  out  of  one  window 
an'  Jack  Wilson  out  of  the  other.  Sam  Elaine  back 
tracked  the  steer  an'  come  out  of  the  door,  an'  Ernie 
Mason  popped  up  through  the  wide  chimbley.  The 
big  red  candidate  for  the  slaughter  house  bawled  an' 
bawled  inside  of  the  cabin  for  a  minute  or  two,  an' 
then  he  backed  out  an'  give  chase  to  Tom  an'  Jack 
an'  Sam,  they  all  a  havin'  on  red  underclothes.  Them 
three  boys  all  hiked  out  in  three  different  directions 
for  trees,  an'  Ernie  sat  astride  of  the  roof  an' 
whooped  an'  hollered  an'  jawed  an'  laughed.  Ernie 
has  got  a  likin'  for  a  joke  when  it  ain't  on  himself. 
The  fellows  on  the  ground  clumb  trees  like  scairt 
bobcats  when  dogs  gets  after  'em.  The  steer  took 
up  a  position  midway  between  the  trees,  an'  pawed 
an'  bellowed  an'  shook  his  head.  Ernie,  he  began 
to  get  ready  to  get  off  the  roof  for  a  gun,  I  suppose. 
"  'Now  Alf,'  said  I  to  him,  'come  on.'  " 
We  rode  down  onto  the  flat  from  the  pine  thicket. 
"  *Jake,'  says  Tom  Freeman,  'the  long  lost  is 
found.  We  hunters  has  been  hunted  up  by  the 
hunted.  It's  a  steer  on  us,  Jake.  Drive  him  away, 
an'  you  an'  Alf  come  in  an'  we'll  have  breakfast.' " 


ENTER   LIZARD    BILL.* 

"There's  some  men  that's  bad  by  nature,"  said 
Wylackie  Jake,  "others  is  bad  because  it's  easier  to 
be  bad  than  good.  They's  another  class  that's  too 
bad  to  be  bad,  an'  too  good  to  be  good,  an'  they's 
yet  another  class  that's  quiet  and  peaceable  like,  reg 
ular  Mary's  little  lambs,  that  don't  make  no  noise 
until  it's  time,  an'  then  they  let  out  a  blat  like  a  old 
ram.  The  first  kind  is  easy  to  get  along  with,  pro 
vided  they  doan't  get  down  on  you  an'  you  let  'em 
alone.  The  second  kind  is  good  at  heart,  but  uncom 
mon  quick  on  the  trigger  when  they's  trouble  in  the 
wind.  The  third  kind  is  always  a  lookin'  fer  trouble, 
an'  generally  findin'  it.  You  cain't  bank  on  what  a 
feller  of  that  kind'll  do.  Sometimes  he's  liable  to  be 
a  grizzly  bear,  an'  sometimes  a  sneakin'  coyote.  You 
kin  always  tell  what  the  fourth  kind'll  do  if  you 
watch  their  eye.  When  you  see  a  little  twinkle,  git 
ready  for  a  Coroner's  inquest.  Now,  what  I'm  a 
goin'  to  tell  you  about  ain't  got  nothin'  to  do  with 
the  first  two  kinds  uv  men.  But  I'm  a  goin'  to  tell 
you  about  a'  fellow  that  thought  he  was  bad  an'  a 
fellow  that  knowed  he  was  when  he  had  ought  to  be. 
It's  just  the  old  story  over  again :  The  loud-barkin' 
dog  ain't  the  one  that  bites  the  hardest. 

*This  story  is  republished  here  through  the  kindness  of 
the  San  Francisco  Argonaut,  in  which  weekly  it  was  first 
printed  in  the  issue  of  March  7,  1904. 


ENTER  LIZARD  BILL  35 

"Now,  olj  Charlie  Porter  thinks  he's  a  whirwind 
of  destruction.  He  thinks  the  sun  rises  an'  sets  on 
his  badness.  Of  course  fellers  like  me  an'  Ernie 
Mason  an'  Alf  Redfield  knows  the  oF  man  ain't  the 
hell  on  wheels  he  claims  to  be ;  but  then  we're  copper- 
riveted  residents  of  this  here  valley,  an'  knows  his 
ways.  To  a  tenderfoot  or  a  casual  acquaintance,  ol' 
Charlie  Porter  is  about  the  same  as  a  rattlesnake. 
He  ain't  a  man  that  kin  be  handled  with  lily-white 
hands.  Every  man  has  got  his  hobby.  It's  some 
men's  hobby  to  ride  all  the  buckin'  broncos  in  the 
world.  An'  it's  some  men's  hobby  to  cause  a  whisky 
drought.  They's  other  men  that  ain't  satisfied  unless 
they're  doin'  a  little  rustlin'  or  sellin'  liquor  to  Injuns 
or  doin'  somethin'  that  ain't  actually  on  the  square. 
Ol'  Charlie  Porter's  hobby  is  that  he's  the  wickedest 
swearer  in  Round  Valley  and  vicinity. 

"In  a  big  town  they  ain't  much  call  for  a  man  to 
be  much  on  roundin'  up  a  string  of  cuss  words  an' 
then  stampedin'  'em  over  the  landscape.  But  out 
here,  where  they's  mules  an  buckin'  broncos  an' 
sheep  an'  stock,  a  man's  got  to  swear  or  lose  his  self- 
respect.  A  stockman  is  always  hot  an'  tired  an' 
sweaty  an'  mad,  an'  he  uses  swearin'  as  one  of  the 
mediums  of  expressin'  his  feelings.  Some  men  swear 
easy  an'  quiet  like,  an'  don't  give  offense  to  nobody. 
There's  ol'  Mr.  Doyle ;  he  could  swear  before  a  parlor 
full  of  ladies  an'  not  stampede  a  heifer.  He's  just 
natural  in  his  cussin'.  His  powerful  language  is  just 
like  bubbles  along  the  top  of  the  stream  of  his  con 
versation — sort  of  ornamental,  but  not  servin'  any 
useful  purpose.  Then  there's  Jack  Wilson — he's 


36  WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

from  Arizony — he  just  cusses  for  the  sake  of  cussin', 
an'  damn  me  if  I  doan't  hate  to  see  a  man  do  that. 
Jack's  swearin'  doan't  do  any  good.  Ol'  Charlie 
Porter  kin  braid  a  long  bull  whip  of  cuss  words,  an' 
wind  up  with  a  terrible  buckskin  lash  of  un 
hyphenated  ginger  expressions.  When  ol'  Charlie 
gets  to  jawin'  at  stock  he  just  nacherally  brings  gore. 
Some  men  can  swear  this  way  without  givin'  offense, 
but  ol'  Charlie  gets  so  awful  wicked  at  times  that  I 
doan't  like  to  hear  him. 

"Or  Charlie  has  got  a  sheep  range  over  at  the 
foot  of  Long  Ridge,  an'  only  comes  to  town  now  an' 
then.  When  he  comes  to  town  he  transacts  what 
business  he  has  an'  then  proceeds  to  step  up  to  the 
bar  of  the  Dewey  an'  punish  straight  goods.  After 
the  liquor  has  had  the  required  effect,  ol'  Charlie 
begins  to  boast  about  his  cussin'  ability,  about  how 
he's  able  to  shoot  out  a  string  for  five  consecutive 
contiguous  minutes  without  repeatin'  himself.  An' 
if  they's  a  tenderfoot  in  the  barroom,  ol'  Charlie, 
after  he's  had  seven  drinks,  '11  challenge  him  to  a 
cussin'  match.  Now,  ol'  Charlie  is  really  about  the 
most  ugly  man  I  ever  seen,  an'  that's  sayin'  a  good 
deal.  When  Nature  made  him  I  think  she  collected 
the  ugliest  man  an'  the  ugliest  woman  that  ever  lived 
an'  rolled  'em  into  ol'  Charlie  Porter.  You  take  his 
ugliness,  his  reputation  for  makin'  trouble  an'  his 
premier  royal  cussin',  an'  to  a  tenderfoot  he's  the 
Bad  Man  from  Bitter  Creek.  So  when  he  proposes 
a  cussin'  match  most  tenderfeet  decides  that  they 
shore  has  to  humor  him,  instead  of  pullin'  his 
whiskers.  To  compare  the  strained,  stilted,  weak 


ENTER  LIZARD   BILL  37 

little  wheezes  of  cussin'  expressions  that  a  tenderfoot 
blows  off,  to  the  expressive,  elevatin'  bellows  of  ol' 
Charlie  'd  be  like  comparin'  a  miserable  little  popgun 
of  22  caliber  to  a  man-killin'  45  Colt.  But  ol' 
Charlie  thinks  it's  lots  of  fun,  an'  keeps  it  a  goin' 
until  his  eleventh  drink,  when  he  forgets  about  his 
hobby  an'  goes  to  sleep  with  his  head  on  a  cyard 
table. 

"Onct  or  twict  in  his  time  ol'  Charlie  Porter  has 
run  into  a  feller  that  couldn't  or  wouldn't  squeeze 
out  the  orneriest  little  word  when  called  upon  to  do 
so.  I  wisht  you  could  see  ol'  Charlie  then.  He  jest 
rips  around  an'  raves  an'  roars  an'  bellows  an'  beefs 
about  it.  When  such  a  thing  happens  you'd  think 
they  was  shore  a  round-up  in  the  Dewey.  Ol'  Charlie 
has  the  habit  of  pullin'  a  gun  on  such  a  tenderfoot 
man  an'  makin'  him  repeat  a  few  choice  expressions 
for  the  good  of  his  general  constitution.  They  ain't 
nothin'  like  swearin'  to  round  off  a  man's  education, 
so  ol'  Charlie  says. 

"Now  they  never  was  a  man  that  was  so  bad 
they  wasn't  somebody  worse,  an'  they  never  was  a 
man  so  skilled  in  any  line  that  they  ain't  somebody 
better.  All  bad  men  runs  into  worse  men,  an'  men 
that  prides  themselves  on  their  swearin'  always  runs 
into  somebody  that  makes  their  efforts  look  like  a 
bluff  again  four  aces.  Ernie  an'  Alf  an'  me  always 
'lowed  that  ol'  Charlie  'd  run  into  a  tenderfoot  some 
day  that  d  turn  out  to  be  a  rattlesnake  instead  of  a 
garter  snake,  an'  of  course  we  'lowed  right.  Such 
things  is  perfectly  nacheral.  Nobody's  got  a  monop 
oly  of  all  the  badness  in  the  world.  It's  too  bad  they 


38  WYLACKIE  JAKE   OF  COVELO 

ain't,  for  then  we  could  kill  him  an'  drink  our  liquor 
in  peace,  Charlie  Porter  or  no  Charlie  Porter. 

"One  day  ol'  Charlie  Porter  come  into  Covelo  to 
buy  some  grub.  As  usual,  he  was  a  huntin'  trouble, 
an'  as  usual  he  found  it,  but  this  time  he  found 
more'n  usual,  more  than  he  could  really  handle.  Ol' 
Charlie  marched  into  the  Dewey  an'  ordered  drinks 
for  all  hands.  We'd  had  seven  drinks  when  in  comes 
a  quiet-lookin'  feller  with  a  steel-gray  eye,  an'  toler 
able  well  built.  Him  a  bein'  a  stranger,  everybody 
looks  at  him  quiet  like.  He  walked  up  to  the  bar  an' 
says,  'What  are  you  a  goin'  tew  have,  boys  ?'  Now 
that  was  a  doin'  the  right  thing  in  a  cow  town.  If 
he'd  a  corraled  a  drink  all  by  himself  an'  a  left  the 
rest  of  the  poor  mavericks  in  the  Dewey  a  lookin'  on, 
he  would  a  been  put  down  as  a  stingy,  measly  lump 
of  tenderfoot  flesh.  But  him  a  doin'  the  right  thing 
shore  argued  he'd  been  educated  some  in  the  right 
way.  Now  ol'  Charlie  Porter  thinks  he'll  play  smart, 
an'  he  goes  up  to  him,  an'  says : 

"I'm  ol'  Charlie  Porter,  the  Bad  Man  from 
Long  Ridge,  an'  I  kin  cuss  louder  an'  longer  than 
any  man  in  Round  Valley.' 

"  'What  you  say  is  probably  true,'  says  the  ten 
derfoot. 

"  'Probably  true!'  bellers  ol'  Charlie.  'Probably 
true !  Well,  if  this  don't  just  beat  hell  an'  bereft  me 
of  the  power  of  speech.  This  is  shore  the  strangest 
thing  that's  ever  happened  to  me  in  my  long  an' 
eventful  life.  To  think  that  I  should  ever've  lived 
to  see  the  day  when  my  word  should  be  doubted  as 
to  my  swearin'  ability  by  a  longhorn.  Well,  I'm 
simply  damned.' 


ENTER  LIZARD  BILL  39 

"He  took  off  his  hat  an'  wiped  his  forehead 
with  a  bandanna. 

"  'Don't  take  on  so,  pardner,'  said  the  tenderfoot. 
'I  didn't  mean  no  offense.' 

"This  is  where  he  made  his  mistake.  If  he'd  a 
run  a  straight  out-an'-out  bluff  on  ol'  Charlie  from 
the  beginnin',  he'd  a  had  him  down  an'  out. 

'  'My  tenderfoot  friend,'  says  ol'  Charlie,  'when 
you  said  that  my  claim  was  probably  true,  you  sug 
gested  that  they  was  shore  a  doubt  in  your  mind 
about  the  truth  of  what  I  said,  an'  then  you  told  me 
not  to  take  on  so.  Now  out  here  we  don't  allow 
tenderfeet  to  doubt  our  words,  an'  we  don't  take 
advice  from  dudes  that  don't  know  a  Winchester 
from  a  Savage.  To  show  you,  my  friend,  that  I'm 
what  I  claim  to  be,  I'm  a  goin'  to  take  on  all  I  please, 
an'  as  for  my  a  bein'  the  worst  swearer  aroun'  here, 
you  an'  me'll  prove  that  before  this  here  intelligent 
multitude,'  says  he,  a  sweepin'  his  hand  around  the 
barroom. 

"The  tenderfoot  didn't  say  nothin',  but  I  seen  a 
light  in  his  eye  that  told  me  he  wasn't  a  man  a 
lookin'  fer  trouble,  but  bein'  in  it,  he'd  make  the 
other  fellow  think  he'd  run  into  a  combined  yellow 
jacket,  hornets'  nest.  He  just  looked  at  ol'  Charlie 
as  if  he  was  the  kind  uv  people  he'd  always  done 
business  with. 

"O1'  Charlie  waited  for  his  awe-inspirin'  bluffin' 
words  to  sink  into  the  'intelligent  multitude,'  an' 
then  he  says :  'You  an'  me  '11  cuss  this  matter  out 
before  these  here  thirsty  boys.  I'll  blaze  away  first, 
an'  then  you  kin  toot  your  infantile  bazoo,  an'  the 


40       WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

boys  here'll  decide  who  wins.  The  loser'll  have  to 
stand  for  the  crowd  three  times.  I'll  begin.' 

"The  tenderfoot  looked  on  in  a  sort  of  a  amused 
way. 

"All  bad  men  has  to  have  the  first  word,  an' 
that's  why  they  gets  proved  to  be  somethin'  other 
than  poison  oak.  They  always  give  the  other  fellow 
a  chance  to  put  in  the  last  word,  an'  that's  what 
counts,  if  it's  a  good  one.  If  bad  men  'd  put  in  more 
time  a  thinkin'  about  the  last  word  instead  of  the 
first  one,  the  Coroner  wouldn't  have  to  set  on  so 
many  bad  men. 

"O1J  Charlie  began  to  saw  the  air  an'  paw,  an' 
then  he  let  loose  the  foundations  of  his  great  deep. 
If  that  flood  had  a  been  let  loose  just  after  Noah  got 
his  livestock  rounded  up,  the  Ark  would  a  been 
shipwrecked,  an'  none  of  us  would  a  been  here  to 
tell  the  tale.  I'd  heard  ol'  Charlie  do  some  right 
smart  cussin',  but  this  here  effort  of  his  shore  eclipsed 
all  previous  records.  He  stampeded  the  strongest 
bands  of  cuss  words  I  ever  heard  up  to  that  time. 
He  didn't  repeat,  an'  he  just  stood  there  an'  talked 
like  he  was  mad  at  a  lot  of  stubborn  mutton.  There 
was  just  one  thing  I  didn't  like  about  his  effort.  It 
was  so  wild  an'  unnatural  an'  wicked  that  it  was 
awing.  There  seemed  to  be  an  atmosphere  of  re 
ligion  pervadin'  the  room.  Ol'  Charlie  just  rolled 
along  to  the  end.  He  wasn't  like  a  mountain  stream, 
turbid  an'  quiet,  an'  loud  an'  gurglin',  an'  wide  an' 
narrow,  an'  a  splashin'  over  boulders  an'  then  a  hidin' 
under  ground,  but  more  like  a  broad  river  in  the 
springtime,  all  riled  up  an'  knowin3  where  it's  a  gdin'. 


ENTER  LIZARD  BILL  41 

Finally  the  ol'  man  finished,  an'  a  kind  of  peaceable 
calm  come  down  on  us.  All  of  us  was  awestruck. 
Ol'  Charlie  had  shore  produced  his  masterpiece,  an' 
he  was  proud  of  it.  He  up  an'  says  to  the  tender 
foot,  'It's  your  move,  pardner.'  The  tenderfoot  he 
seemed  kind  of  awed,  an',  being  with  strangers, 
wasn't  a  choo-chooing  forward. 

"Ol'  Charlie  he  said,  'What  have  you  got  to  say 
to  that,  my  friend?' 

"The  tenderfoot  he  up  and  said,  'You  go  to  hell.' 

"At  that  ol'  Charlie's  neck  just  swelled  up  like 
it  was  a  goin'  to  bust  his  collar,  an'  says  he :  'Would 
you  a  mind  a  repeatin'  what  you  said  ?  Perhaps  my 
ears  didn't  just  round  up  them  words  of  yourn 
proper.' 

"  'Anything  to  oblige  you/  says  the  tenderfoot. 
'I  said  for  you  to  go  to  hell,  an'  I  meant  it.' 

"At  that  ol'  Charlie  just  pulled  his  gun  an'  cov 
ered  that  tenderfoot  like  a  robber  does  a  stage  driver. 

"  'Now,'  says  the  old  gentleman,  'you  will  have 
to  repeat  every  word  I  say  before  this  here  crowd. 
If  you  don't,  I'll  see  about  who  goes  to  a  warmer 
climate.  Now,  then,  you  repeat.'  With  that  ol' 
Charlie  got  ready  to  start  off.  He  had  just  turned 
the  first  word  out  of  the  corral  when  we  heard  a 
whoop  outside,  an'  jawin'  an'  cussin',  an'  we  all  run 
out  to  see  what  the  trouble  was,  includin'  ol'  Charlie 
an'  his  victim.  We  see  it  was  Tom  Freeman  an' 
Sam  Elaine  an'  Jack  Wilson  with  a  big  bunch  of 
steers  from  off  Frank  Bell's  range.  Them  wild 
range  steers  hadn't  never  been  to  town  before,  an' 
they  didn't  know  how  to  act,  an'  the  first  thing  they 
did  was  to  stampede.  Well,  sir,  afore  I  knowed  it, 


42  WYLACKIE   JAKE  OF  COVELO 

that  tenderfoot  had  run  out  of  that  saloon  an'  jumped 
onto  my  old  pinto  plug.  That  horse  is  nine  years  old, 
but  he's  from  Modoc  County,  which  is  as  wild  a 
place  as  they  make,  an'  he's  never  been  rode  without 
him  a  havin'  a  buckin'  spell  first.  When  that  tender 
foot  got  aboard,  the  horse  knowed  it  wasn't  me,  an' 
he  shot  up  in  the  air  all  humped  up  like  a  steeple. 
But  he  didn't  throw  the  rider.  Then  he  jumped  stiff- 
legged  for  a  hundred  feet,  an'  then  turned  quick 
several  times,  an'  then  he  jumped  into  the  air  like 
he  was  a  goin'  to  fly,  but  he  had  shore  met  his  match, 
which  he  knowed.  Then  the  fellow,  he  wasn't  a 
tenderfoot,  took  after  that  stampeded  bunch  of 
steers  an'  whooped  an'  yelled,  an'  finally  turned  'em 
back.  Then  we  could  make  out  what  he  was  a  sayin'. 
He  jawed,  an'  raved,  an'  roared.  He  let  loose  com 
binations  of  cuss  words  that  was  shore  new  around 
here,  an'  what  he  said  had  meanin'.  He  seemed  to 
draw  on  up  above  an'  down  below,  on  the  earth  an' 
under  the  earth,  from  the  mountains  an'  from  the 
trees,  an'  from  the  air,  from  men  an'  from  stock. 
An'  them  cattle  understood  him  as  well  as  a  mule 
would.  Sheep !  Why,  sheep  would  a  been  plumb 
scared  to  death.  In  the  face  of  that,  ol'  Charlie  Por 
ter's  effort  looked  like  a  solid  chunk  of  worm-eaten 
misery.  The  tenderfoot  rode  up  in  front  of  the 
Dewey,  an'  the  fellers  cheered  him,  all  but  ol' 
Charlie  Porter. 

"  The  drinks  are  on  you,  Charlie,'  says  Ernie 
Mason,  which  the  same  a  bein'  a  sheepherder.  Ol' 
Charlie  he  didn't  say  nothin',  but  walked  over  to  a 
chair  an'  sat  down  an'  looked  at  the  floor.  We  all 
stalked,  in,  an5  the  tenderfoot  that  wasn't  a  tender- 


ENTER   LIZARD  BILL  43 

foot  says :  That's  a  likely  horse.  Who's  his  owner  ?' 
'I  am/  says  I,  proud  like.  'Lucky  man,'  says  he.  'An' 
now  that  you  boys  here  has  heard  the  oT  gentleman 
an'  me  disturb  the  religious-minded  around  here,  it's 
up  to  you  to  decide  who's  a  goin'  to  pay  for  three 
rounds  of  drinks.' 

"  'Ol'  Charlie  Porter,'  yells  the  crowd. 

"Or  Charlie,  he  got  up  an'  said  he  guessed  he'd 
be  a  goin'  home,  as  he  wanted  to  get  to  the  top  of 
the  ridge  by  sundown.  He  started  out,  when  the  ten 
derfoot  pulls  a  gun  on  him  an'  says :  'Now,  you  old 
white-headed  bully,  you  just  pungle  up  for  the  drinks 
for  the  crowd  three  times  or  I'll  make  you  get  down 
on  your  hands  and  knees  an'  ask  my  pardon.' 

"There  wasn't  nothin'  for  the  61'  man  to  do  but 
treat,  an'  he  done  it,  but  with  ill  grace.  When  we 
all  'd  put  the  three  rounds  of  dark  horse  under  our 
belts,  ol'  Charlie  starts  out,  when  the  tenderfoot  stops 
him  an'  says :  'It's  due  to  you  to  know  my  name  an' 
where  I'm  from.  I  ain't  got  no  cards,  but  I'm  Lafe 
Hadley,  called  Lizard  Bill  for  short,  an'  I'm  from 
near  Tombstone,  Arizony.' 

"O1'  Charlie  he  didn't  say  nothin'  for  a  instant, 
an'  then  he  up  an'  says :  'I  wisht  I'd  a  knowed  who 
you  was  when  you  first  come  in.  I'd  like  to've  in 
troduced  you  to  the  Valley.'  An'  with  that  ol'  Charlie 
went  up  to  the  tenderfoot  that  wasn't  a  shore  enough 
one,  an'  put  his  hand  on  his  shoulder  an'  steered  him 
toward  the  bar,  an'  says :  'Generally  I  don't  take  but 
eleven  drinks  when  I  come  to  town,  which  the  same 
I've  stowed  away  to-day ;  but  for  onct  I'll  break  my 
rule.  You  an'  me  '11  drink  without  the  boys  for  this 
onct.  What'll  you  have  ?'  " 


A  PERSONALLY  CONDUCTED  ELOPE 
MENT. 

It  was  early  morning.  "Wylackie  Jake"  and  I 
still  lay  on  our  bed  of  spruce  boughs.  The  wilder 
ness  life  of  the  day  was  beginning  to  awake,  that  of 
the  night  had  disappeared  to  cave,  and  hollow  tree, 
and  brush  patch.  Almost  directly  over  our  bed,  at 
the  end  of  a  long  branch,  was  a  huge  pine  cone. 
Just  before  every  daybreak,  during  our  sojourn  at 
this  camp,  several  bluejays  were  accustomed  to  get 
their  breakfasts  from  this  cone.  All  wanted  to  break 
fast  at  the  same  time,  irrespective  of  the  fact  that  the 
size  of  the  table  would  not  permit.  The  result  had 
been  that  Jake  and  I  had  been  awakened  every  morn 
ing  at  an  unearthly  hour  by  the  noisy  chatter  of  the 
hungry.  An  open  and  notorious  warfare  had  been 
waged  every  morning  over  this  blue  jay  free  lunch 
counter.  On  this  particular  morning  the  chattering 
was  shriller  than  usual.  After  several  moments  of 
pecking  and  flirting  of  wings  and  chattering,  one 
bird  seemed  to  be  victorious.  The  remainder  gave  up 
the  struggle,  and  probably  sought  other  cones. 

"See  what  hoggishness  '11  do,"  said  Jake.  "Now 
some  of  them  birds  '11  have  to  go  hungry  because  that 
jay  up  there  wanted  to  be  the  whole  jay  or  none. 
They's  only  one  good  thing  about  hoggishness,  an' 
that's  this :  When  a  man  onct  proves  himself  to  be  a 


A  PERSONALLY  CONDUCTED  ELOPEMENT    45 

hog,  you  always  knows  what  to  expect.  He  just 
moves  along  in  a  straight  line  from  little  piggishness 
to  the  biggest  specimen  of  the  Poland  China  porcine. 
It's  different  with  love.  Love  is  a  funny  thing." 
"How  do  you  know  ?  Have  you  ever  been  there?1' 
"No,  I  haven't  never  been  in  love,  but  I've  been 
on  this  here  lump  of  mud  nigh  onto  thirty  years,  an' 
I've  used  my  eyes  an'  ears  an'  thinker  some,  an'  they 
all  tells  me  that  love  is  a  mighty  uncertain  critter. 
You  see  a  man  in  the  splendor  of  his  manhood,  eyes 
good,  hearin'  first  class,  muscles  ready  to  take  him 
to  the  top  of  South  Yallo  Bally  without  him  a  havin' 
to  stop  an'  rest,  an'  thinker  a  tickin'  away  proper 
like  a  old-fashioned  silver  watch.  Meet  this  same 
man  a  couple  of  days  later  an'  you  only  find  a 
bleached  carcass  of  a  man.  He  cain't  eat,  he  cain't 
sleep,  an'  as  for  workin',  why,  one  of  them  half- 
breed  Injuns  from  off  the  Reservation  'd  make  him 
look  like  a  cow  pony  alongside  of  a  race  horse.  An' 
what's  caused  the  ruin  of  the  man's  constitution? 
Why,  nothin'  but  love.  Love  has  turned  this  fine, 
strong  man  into  just  a  wabbly  calf.  Now  they  tells 
me  that  love  is  a  pink-faced  kid,  but  I  think  he's 
more  like  a  big,  strong  buckaroo,  an'  when  he  gets 
one  rope  around  a  man's  neck,  another  one  around 
his  waist  a  holdin'  his  hands  fast  to  his  sides,  an'  one 
around  each  leg,  an'  straddles  the  victim  out,  the 
victim  ain't  no  longer  got  a  mind  of  his  own.  He 
becomes  as  helpless  as  a  long-legged  colt  away  from 
its  mother,  an'  they  ain't  no  tellin'  what  he'll  do  any 
more  than  there's  tellin'  what  a  woman  '11  do.  The 
mind  of  such  a  man  becomes  disordered.  He  thinks 


46       WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

about  doin'  all  kinds  of  impossible  things  to  show  his 
girl  how  much  he  loves  her. 

"I  mind  me  of  one  case  that  goes  to  show  what 
fools  love  '11  make  of  a  man,  a  woman,  an'  them  that 
didn't  have  no  more  sense  'n  to  mix  up  in  the  affair. 
It  just  goes  to  show  the  cussedness  of  love  an'  luck. 

"They  was  a  fellow  come  to  Round  Valley  named 
LaFayette  Hadley,  called  Lizard  Bill,  because  he  was 
scairt  of  lizards,  an'  because  his  name  wasn't  Bill. 
That's  one  of  the  peculiar  things  about  names  up 
here.  We  all  calls  Eel  River  that  because  they  never 
was  a  eel  seen  in  it.  They's  a  canon  called  Old 
Woman's  Canon,  because  they  never  was  a  old 
woman  seen  near  it,  an'  never  will  be.  An'  this  here 
mountain  we're  camped  on  is  called  Hammer  Horn 
because  nobody  has  ever  hammered  a  horn  on  it.  Bill 
was  from  Tombstone,  Arizony,  an'  got  the  best  of 
ol'  Charlie  Porter  in  a  swearin'  match  the  first  day 
he  ever  was  in  Covelo.  He  was  a  quiet,  steady,  un- 
asoomin  sort  of  a  young  fellow,  a  good  bronco 
twister,  a  rattlin'  first-rate  buckaroo,  an'  a  savin'  of 
his  yellow  boys.  Bill  was  also  quick  on  the  trigger 
when  he  had  ought  to  be.  He  worked  for  ol'  Cattle 
King  Morrill — the  same  man  I  work  for  when  I 
agitate  for  somebody  except  myself,  which  ain't  but 
seldom. 

"Mr.  Morrill  had  a  daughter  named  Anna,  which 
the  same  had  a  college  education  an'  other  up-to-date 
fixin's,  an'  was  as  purty  as  one  of  them  heroines  in 
a  paper-backed  novel.  Now  you'd  suppose  that  a 
girl  whose  father  had  cattle  an'  sheep  on  almost  every 
hill  in  Trinity,  Mendocino  an'  Humboldt,  who  was 


A  PERSONALLY  CONDUCTED  ELOPEMENT    47 

better  educated  'an  anybody  in  the  Valley,  her  a  bein' 
able  to  read  Latin  an'  Greek  an'  other  languages 
that's  got  a  tombstone  over  'em,  an'  who  was  purty,  'd 
be  as  stuck  up  as  a  stage  driver.  But  Anna  wasn't 
that  kind  of  a  girl.  She  liked  Frisco,  an'  had  been 
to  Paris  an'  heard  the  Frenchman  polly  vou,  but  she 
said  she  preferred  Round  Valley  to  the  gladsome 
delights  of  a  metropolis. 

"Anna  liked  to  hunt,  an'  they  wasn't  no  better 
fisherman  around.  Trout  just  nacherally  seemed  to 
like  to  get  caught  by  her.  I've  seen  'em  jump  clear 
out  of  the  water  to  grab  one  of  her  flies,  an'  none  of 
'em  has  ever  done  that  much  for  me.  An'  sing! 
Why,  that  girl  could  charm  a  chipmunk  out  of  a  tree. 
When  she  was  just  a  kid  she  could  ride  most  any 
bronco  on  the  ranch.  An'  nerve !  Well,  onct  when 
she  was  out  a  campin'  with  her  father  over  on  Shell 
Mountain,  she  was  alone  in  camp,  an'  a  cinnamon 
bear  come  along,  evidently  thinkin'  that  because  he 
didn't  have  no  one  but  a  girl  to  deal  with  he  could 
pack  away  a  side  of  bacon  an'  the  syrup  can.  When 
the  ol'  man  come  back  he  found  that  it  was  a  cer 
tainty  that  the  fry  in'  pan  'd  shore  have  bear  meat  in 
it  for  breakfast.  So  you  kin  see  that  Miss  Anna 
Morrill  'd  have  the  active  support  of  every  man 
that  wore  a  shore  enough  Stetson  an'  could  ride  a 
bronco.  None  of  our  style  of  men  that  wouldn't  a 
raised  hell  an'  put  a  chunk  under  it  for  Miss  Anna 
Morrill.  That  ain't  a  sayin'  that  we  all  was  in  love 
with  her.  Sometimes  I  think  a  man's  liable  to  think 
more  of  a  woman  than  the  word  love'll  express.  That 
was  our  fix. ,  None  of  us  never  thought  there  was 


48       WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

any  hope  for  us,  expectin'  that  some  hard-hat  dude 
man  that  never  cussed,  an'  always  went  to  church 
with  his  mother  'd  shore  round  up  the  pride  of  the 
Valley.  That  wasn't  the  way  it  worked  out,  an'  that's 
one  of  the  mysteries  of  this  here  love  game. 

"After  Bill  had  been  around  a  while  an'  had  made 
friends  of  everybody  around  but  ol'  Charlie  Porter 
an'  Frank  Bell's  outfit,  I  noticed  a  change  in  him  real 
suddently.  He  didn't  seem  to  take  no  pride  in  his 
work ;  a  measly  bronco  twisted  him  off.  At  night 
in  the  bunkhouse  I'd  hear  him  turn  over  real  often. 
Onct  when  a  lot  of  stock  stampeded  he  didn't  get 
very  mad,  an'  I  noticed  that  he  forgot  to  swear  at  all. 
At  the  table  he  didn't  eat  enough  to  keep  a  hog 
cholera  microbe  from  losin'  weight.  When  spoken 
to  he  didn't  have  much  to  say,  an'  didn't  seem  to  put 
what  you  said  into  his  corral  at  all.  Now  I  knowed 
them  signs.  Ever  since  I  was  a  small  boy  I've  had 
lots  of  chances  to  watch  people,  an'  I've  watched  'em 
with  about  the  same  degree  of  attention  as  a  dog  does 
a  pine  squirrel  a  settin'  up  on  a  limb  about  thirty 
feet  up,  a  chatterin'  an'  friskin'  away.  Not  that  I'm 
curious  about  people,  but  what  a  man  learns  about 
'em  from  watchin'  'em  is  apt  to  come  in  as  handy  as 
a  gun  in  a  barroom  row.  You  cain't  know  too  much 
about  people.  I  don't  go  as  much  on  what  you  learn 
from  books  about  'em  as  I  do  on  what  you  kin  learn 
about  'em  yourself  if  you  keep  your  lamps  trimmed. 
I  knew  the  meanin'  of  them  signs  around  Bill  as  well 
as  I  know  they's  a  perpetual  spring  wherever  they's 
a  alder  grove  a  growin'.  A  man  a  actin'  that  a  way 
ain't  a  actin'  natural,  an5  when  a  man  ain't  a  actin' 
natural,  he's  either  sick  or  in  love." 


0 


A  PERSONALLY  CONDUCTED  ELOPEMENT    49 

"Or  in  trouble,"  I  ventured  to  suggest. 

"No.  You're  wrong  there.  Every  man  from 
Teddy  Roosevelt  down  is  in  trouble  from  the  day 
of  his  birth  to  the  day  of  his  death ;  bein'  in  trouble 
is  the  natural  condition  of  us  all.  I  knowed  Bill 
wasn't  sick,  an'  so  I  guessed  he  must  be  in  love, 
probably  roped  an'  branded  by  it.  As  soon  as  I 
comes  to  this  conclusion,  I  wonders  who  he's  in  love 
with.  There  ain't  many  girls  in  the  Valley,  an'  so  the 
guessin'  chances  as  to  who  she  was,  was  limited.  I 
runs  all  the  girls  in  the  Valley  through  the  corral  an' 
into  the  cars,  but  wasn't  able  to  make  up  my  mind 
which  one  had  put  her  brand  on  Bill.  Onct  or  twict 
I  thought  I  had  the  right  one  roped,  but  it  come  over 
me  that  a  sensible  fellow  like  Bill  'd  have  better  sense 
'an  to  lose  his  appetite  an'  sleep  over  such  as  them. 
Finally  I  got  all  balled  up  on  the  proposition.  I  was 
like  a  fellow  in  the  mountains  that  strikes  a  nice 
plain  trail  that  apparently  leads  to  some  place  worth 
goin'  to,  an'  he  follows  it,  an'  follows  it,  an'  finally 
comes  to  a  meadow,  a  nice,  purty  one,  an'  then  he 
cain't  find  what  becomes  of  the  trail.  It  just  seems 
to  come  to  a  stop — no  reason  for  it  a  havin'  led  there, 
an'  shore  no  reason  for  it  a  havin'  stopped  there. 
Thinks  I  to  myself,  here  shore  is  a  mystery  that  Nick 
Carter  'd  like  to  tackle  an'  solve.  Bill's  in  love,  all 
right,  an'  in  love  with  a  girl  right  here  in  this  Valley, 
but  which  one,  an'  is  she  as  gone  on  him  as  he  is  on 
her  ?  Have  you  ever  tried  to  find  the  combination  to 
a  puzzle  like  that?  I've  done  some  tall  thinkin'  an' 
observin'  in  my  time  when  out  a  tryin'  to  round  up  a 
bunch  of  steers  that's  disappeared,  but  I  never  trailed 


50       WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELQ 

an'  circled  around  half  as  hard  at  that  as  I  did  a 
lookin'  for  Bill's  tracks  of  love. 

"Bill  kept  a  gettin'  worse  an'  more  of  it,  an'  I 
kept  a  tryin'  to  find  out  the  swishin'  petticoats  that 
had  put  Bill  to  the  bad.  Of  course  I  found  out  who 
she  was,  as  I  knowed  I  would.  There  ain't  no  way 
of  findin'  out  a  thing  except  by  keepin'  at  it,  an'  the 
way  I  found  out  was  a  perfectly  natural  way.  I  was 
the  only  one  in  the  Valley  that  suspected  what  was 
the  real  trouble  with  Bill,  an'  Bill  didn't  suspect  that 
anybody,  even  me,  'd  tumble  to  what  was  a  eatin' 
him.  Consequence  was  that  Bill  wasn't  on  his  guard 
the  way  a  big  buck  with  a  tree  on  his  head  an'  a  inch 
of  fat  on  his  hams  always  is,  a  snififin'  an'  a  turnin' 
around. 

"One  mornin'  me  an'  Bill  was  due  to  leave  Mer 
rill's  ranch  for  the  vicinity  of  Blocksburg,  where  we 
was  a  goin'  to  do  some  roundin'  up.  We  cinched 
our  saddles  onto  our  horses,  each  stuck  a  Winchester 
in  its  scabbard  an'  a  gun  in  his  belt,  an'  then  com 
menced  packin'  a  couple  of  wild,  rearin',  plungin' 
mules.  Miss  Anna  Morrill  come  out  to  the  ranch 
house,  probably  havin'  heard  me  a  talkin'  to  the  mules 
in  the  only  lingo  they  savvy.  When  she  come  near, 
you  bet  I  changed  my  style  of  conversation,  an'  talked 
to  them  wall-eyed,  slab-sided  imps  of  perdition  like 
we  all  was  a  settin'  in  a  parlor.  We  finally  got  the 
hitches  slung,  tied  a  water  bucket  on  top  of  one  pack, 
an'  was  ready.  I  swung  into  my  saddle,  an'  Bill 
swung  into  his.  'S'long,  Miss  Morrill,'  says  I,  a 
takin'  off  my  hat,  an'  with  that  I  whacked  them  two 
mules  with  my  quirt  an'  started  'em  for  the  road.  I 


A  PERSONALLY  CONDUCTED  ELOPEMENT    51 

looked  back  suddently,  an'  dang  me  if  Bill  wasn't  a 
throwin'  a  kiss  to  the  daughter  of  ol'  Cattle  King 
Morrill,  an'  she  was  a  throwin'  one  to  him.  That 
give  the  whole  story  away  to  me.  I  rode  on  almost 
dazed  by  the  suddent  light  that  struck  me.  I  was  as 
clost  to  bein'  plumb  loco  then  as  ever  in  my  life.  I 
feared  for  Bill,  an'  I  feared  for  the  girl.  Ol'  man 
Morrill  is  as  quick  on  the  trigger  as  I  am  on  the  eat, 
an'  he's  got  a  deep  bass  voice  when  he  gets  mad  that 
makes  you  think  he's  in  a  bear  fight.  Moreover,  he 
thinks  they  never  was  such  a  girl  in  the  world  as 
his'n.  Bill  didn't  have  nothin',  so  far  as  I  knowed, 
except  prospects,  an'  two  cain't  live  on  them,  al 
though  they  always  think  they  kin.  Of  course  some 
day  Anna  'd  inherit  all  the  ol'  man's  property;  but 
that  day  looked  to  be  as  far  off  as  the  Sierra  Nevada 
from  here,  him  a  bein'  sixty  an'  able  to  stand  as  much 
as  a  fellow  of  thirty.  Thinks  I,  no  good  can  come  of 
any  such  match  as  these  two  seem  to  be  a  hankerin' 
to  enter  into.  So  I  smokes  a  cigarette  an'  tried  to 
think  up  a  way  of  stampedin'  the  ol'  man  in  the  right 
direction.  Me  an'  the  ol'  man  has  always  got  along 
first  rate.  He  says  our  ideas  of  mine  and  thine  is 
about  the  same,  an'  that  we  both  has  ideas  native  to 
the  soil  of  a  cow  country. 

"Pretty  soon  Bill  caught  up  with  me.  He  looked 
kind  of  downcast,  as  if  he  was  a  sheep  that'd  broke 
away  from  the  main  band  an'  was  a  expectin'  a 
cougar  to  gather  him  in.  We  rides  side  by  side  down 
the  road  toward  Covelo,  the  mules  a  hikin'  on  ahead. 
We  come  to  town,  an'  I  says,  'Bill,  let's  have  a  final 
round  afore  we  hits  the  high  spots  where  the  water's 


52  WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

good  an'  whisky  ain't  to  be  had.'  Bill  was  agreeable, 
an'  we  had  a  couple  of  jolts  an'  went  out  in  front  of 
the  Dewey.  Ol'  Mr.  Doyle  was  a  standin'  there,  an' 
he  up  an'  says :  'Mornin',  Jake  an'  Bill.  Where  air 
you  bound  for  this  time  ?'  'We're  a  goin'  up  clost  to 
Blox,'  says  I,  'an'  mighty  glad  to  get  a  change  of 
scene.'  'I  think  that's  all  right  for  you/  says  the  ol' 
man  to  me,  'but  Bill  don't  seem  to  be  very  anxious  to 
go.  W7hat's  been  the  matter  with  you  lately,  Bill? 
You  doan't  act  like  yourself.  You've  been  a  actin' 
like  a  dang  fool  lately,  or  a  man  in  love,  an'  they  ain't 
no  special  difference.'  'Oh,  dry  up,'  says  Bill.  'I 
cain't,'  says  the  ol'  man,  'for  I  ain't  no  pool  of  water.' 
I  looked  at  Bill,  an'  Bill  was  shore  a  blushin'.  'Well,' 
says  I,  'let's  straddle  the  broncos  an'  hike  out  for  the 
home  of  the  suckin'  calf  an'  the  hookin'  mother.'  We 
jumped  into  our  saddles  an'  started  the  mules  north. 
"WTe  rode  along,  me  a  singin'  a  cow  song  an1  a 
thinkin'  how  glad  I  was  to  be  on  the  way  to  the 
high  land.  There  ain't  no  place  like  the  wilderness 
to  me.  Bill  wasn't  a  sayin'  nothin',  an'  was  a  lookin' 
as  glum  as  a  lost  dog.  Finally  I  up  an'  says :  'Bill, 
that's  a  mighty  bad  an'  foolish  thing  for  you  to  do  a 
makin'  love  to  Anna  Morrill.  It  ain't  likely  to  be 
what  you  might  call  popular  with  the  ol'  man.'  Bill 
he  flared  up  like  a  rattlesnake  when  a  man  comes  a 
near,  an'  says,  'Jake,  I  wisht  you'd  'tend  to  your  own 
business.'  'Well,  Bill,'  says  I,  'I'm  a  goin'  to,  an' 
I'm  only  a  speakin'  because  I  don't  want  to  'tend 
your  funeral.  You're  a  goin'  to  get  into  trouble, 
Bill,  if  you  don't  let  up,  an'  I  wouldn't  bet  a  dollar 
watch  again'  a  pair  of  dogskin  chaps  on  who'll  win 


A  PERSONALLY  CONDUCTED  ELOPEMENT    53 

if  you  run  afoul  of  ol'  man  Morrill.  More'n  one 
man  has  tried  monkey  business  with  him,  an'  always 
the  Coroner  has  brought  in  a  verdick  of  justifiable 
homicide.  Now,  if  I  was  in  your  place,  I'd  stop 
right  where  I  was  an'  backtrack  my  steps.'  'No, 
Jake,'  says  he,  'you  wouldn't.  No  man  in  love 
would.'  'Bill,'  says  I,  'I  don't  know  nothin'  at  first 
hand  about  love,  but  I  guess  you're  right.  What  are 
you  an'  Anna  a  goin'  to  do  about  this  business  ?'  'We 
don't  know/  says  he.  'Nor  do  I,'  says  I.  'But  if  we 
was  only  over  in  Tehama  County  an'  could  lay  the 
case  before  Cam.  Johnson,  the  "Matchmaker  of  the 
Foothills,"  they  ain't  no  doubt  about  him  a  knowin' 
what  to  do.  He  fixed  up  the  matrimonial  leanin's  of 
Dutch  Bill,  an'  Jim  Raglan,  an'  Long  John  Jordan 
as  nice  as  ol'  Mr.  Putnam,  the  blacksmith,  sets  a 
tire.  Well,  we  ain't  in  Tehama,  an'  we're  a  goin'  to 
the  wilderness.  Maybe  when  we  get  out  there  I'll 
be  able  for  to  think  up  some  kind  of  a  plan  that'll 
enable  you  all  to  marry  an'  live  happy  ever  after. 
You  a  bein'  in  love  ain't  got  no  sense,  an'  of  course 
you  won't  be  able  to  think  of  nothin'  but  the  girl. 
When  I  think  of  a  feasible  plan,  I'll  say  something 
an'  not  until.  Does  that  bear  the  O.  K.  brand?' 
'Shore,'  says  Bill,  an'  with  that  we  began  to  talk 
about  a  one-horse  sky  pilot  that'd  had  a  row  with  a 
horse  doctor  in  Covelo. 

"We  rode  on  an'  on,  an'  finally  come  to  the  moun 
tains,  an'  then  we  rode  on  for  a  couple  of  days  more, 
comin'  into  camp  one  evenin'  just  as  Ike  Wharton 
an'  Alf  Redfield  an'  Johnnie  Gray  was  a  goin'  to 
have  supper.  They  just  said,  'Howdy,  boys,'  an' 


54  WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

then  me  an'  Bill  yanked  our  saddles  off  an'  give  the 
hitches  a  pull  an'  piled  up  blankets  an'  f  ryin'  pans  an' 
coffee  pots  an'  grub  on  the  ground.  An'  then  we  all 
knelt  down  to  supper.  Alf  had  killed  a  deer,  an'  the 
way  I  ate  was  a  good  deal  like  the  way  a  prize 
fighter  eats  after  his  trainin'  days  are  over.  Bill  he 
didn't  eat  enough  to  keep  a  snowbird  from  becomin' 
emaciated. 

"We  all  started  to  work  the  next  mornin',  an' 
kept  at  it  about  a  week.  I  was  a  thinkin'  all  the  time 
about  some  way  of  helpin'  Bill  out  of  his  trouble.  I 
was  sincere,  for  I  liked  Bill,  an'  didn't  want  no  Cor 
oner's  inquest  held  over  him.  When  I  feels  that  way 
about  a  man,  I'd  go  from  hell  to  breakfast  for  him. 
I  finally  concludes  that  since  ol'  man  Morrill  is  a 
quick  an'  suddent  kind  of  a  man,  the  thing  for  Anna 
an'  Bill  to  do  was  to  be  a  little  mite  suddenter  an' 
quicker.  They  ain't  nothin'  like  beatin'  a  man  at  his 
own  game.  Now  I  never  was  much  on  details  about 
marriages.  I  only  know  you've  got  to  get  a  permit, 
an'  a  Gospel  sharp,  an'  a  man  an'  woman  willin',  an' 
a  couple  of  witnesses,  to  have  a  proper  matrimonial 
alliance.  That  information  is  all  right  for  what  it  is, 
but  they's  a  lot  of  little  details,  like  kissin'  the  bride, 
an'  honeymoon  trips  an'  all  that,  that  I  don't  know 
anything  about.  Thinks  I,  the  thing  for  them  cooin' 
birds  to  do  is  to  fly  away  some  morning  to  Tehama, 
over  to  Cam.  Johnson's,  with  me  a  actin'  as  guide  an' 
grand  master  of  ceremonies.  I  knowed  that  when 
we  all  onct  got  over  to  Johnson's,  they'd  be  a  weddin' 
done  up  right.  I  knowed  that  Cam.  Johnson  wouldn't 
make  no  mistakes.  He'd  never  put  wool  in  a  sack 


A  PERSONALLY  CONDUCTED  ELOPEMENT    55 

made  to  hold  Murphies.  I  thinks  out  the  whole 
scheme,  a  figurin'  on  what  trail  to  take,  how  to  throw 
the  enemy  off  in  case  we  was  chased,  an'  how,  when 
we  got  acrost  the  mountains,  I'd  take  Bill  an'  Anna 
to  Cam.'s  house  an'  then  I'd  ride  on  to  Red  Bluff  an' 
get  a  license,  an'  come  back  with  it,  an'  then  the  Jus 
tice  of  the  Peace  at  Lowrey's  could  perform  the  cere 
mony.  They  ain't  nothin'  like  bein'  ready  for  trouble 
when  you  hear  it  a  sneakin'  in  the  brush  around 
camp.  Me  an'  Bill  worked  together  all  the  time,  but 
I  didn't  say  a  thing  to  him  about  what  I  knowed  was 
a  tearin'  at  his  mind.  I  don't  generally  talk  about 
a  thing  until  I've  made  up  the  whole  scheme  an'  tied 
it  up  in  a  bundle,  wound  with  pink  ribbon,  an'  then 
I'm  ready  to  speak  volumes.  A  couple  of  days  before 
we  was  ready  to  leave  the  mountains  I  goes  out  with 
Bill,  as  usual,  an'  I  says  to  him,  as  nearly  as  I  kin 
recollect : 

"  'Bill,  I  suppose  you  ain't  lost  none  of  your 
tender  feelin's  for  Miss  Morrill  ?' 

"  'No,  Jake,'  says  he.  'You're  right.  I  never 
ought  to  a  come  on  this  trip.  I  ain't  been  worth  a 
whoop.  Why,  a  three  months'  calf  is  more'n  I  kin 
handle  now.' 

"  'Well,  says  I,  'you  are  shore  a  goin'  to  make 
yourself  mighty  unpopular  with  ol'  man  Morrill.  I 
don't  blame  you  for  fallin'  in  love  with  the  girl,  an'  I 
must  say,  Bill,  to  be  truthful,  that  I  don't  blame  her 
for  fallin'  in  love  with  you.  If  I  was  ol'  man 
Morrill  they'd  be  a  weddin'  where  six-shooters  wasn't 
part  of  the  wearin'  apparel  of  the  male  guests.  But 
facts  is  facts,  an'  they  are  as  stubborn  as  a  mule  when 


56  WYLACKIE  JAKE   OF   COVELO 

they's  a  rattlesnake  on  the  trail.  I  ain't  ol'  man 
Morrill  any  more  than  he's  me.  So  the  question  is, 
What  shall  the  young  man  an'  the  young  woman  do  ? 
I've  thought  the  matter  over  some,  an'  shall  now  give 
you  my  opinion.  I  don't  like  to  get  personal,  but 
how  much  are  you  worth,  Bill?'  'Oh,'  says  Bill,  a 
thinkin',  'nigh  onto  $3,000.'  'That's  better  than  I 
thought.  Now,  what  you  an'  Anna  has  got  to  do  is 
to  let  me  boss  this  here  job,  an'  I'll  have  you  spliced 
so's  it'll  take  a  fat-faced  Judge  an'  a  courtroom  of 
jabberin'  lawyers  to  get  you  separated.'  Bill's  face 
lighted  up,  an'  I  could  see  he  was  glad  I  was  a  talkin' 
to  him.  A  man  in  love  has  got  to  have  somebody  to 
lean  on. 

"  'Now,'  says  I,  'you  an'  Anna  an'  me  will  take  a 
little  trip  over  to  Tehama  County  when  we  get  in 
from  this  round-up.  An'  when  we  come  back  you 
an'  Mrs.  LaFayette  Hadley  can  make  the  trip  by  way 
of  'Frisco,  while  I  go  back  by  way  of  the  trail.  How 
does  that  idea  jibe  with  your  system?'  Til  fix  it  up 
with  Anna,'  says  Bill.  So  it  was  all  arranged  be 
tween  me  an'  Bill. 

"We  all  slowly  drove  the  rounded-up  stock 
towards  the  Valley,  me  a  singin',  'Oh,  ain't  I  glad  to 
get  out  of  the  wilderness,'  an'  Bill  a  brightenin'  up 
the  closer  we  come  to  home.  When  we  had  put  the 
beef  victims  of  man's  eatin'  powers  into  the  big 
field,  I  seen  Bill  ride  off  towards  the  house,  an'  I  seen 
somebody  flutter  somethin'  white  at  Miss  Anna's 
window,  an'  I  seen  Bill  take  off  his  hat. 

"The  next  day  me  an'  Bill  had  to  pack  some  grub 
over  to  a  camp  on  Wylackie  Hill,  an'  Bill  told  me 


A  PERSONALLY  CONDUCTED  ELOPEMENT     57 

that  him  an'  his  financee  was  willin'  to  entrust  their 
happiness  into  my  hands.  Bill  said  that  his  girl  was 
for  tellin'  the  old  gentleman  all  about  the  affair,  an' 
then  holdin'  the  threat  of  an  elopement  over  his  head 
unless  he'd  consent  to  a  weddin'.  But  Bill  said  he 
wasn't  a  goin'  up  against  four  aces  with  nothin'  but 
a  bob-tail  flush,  an'  Anna  saw  the  point  an'  caved  in. 
"So  it  was  all  arranged  that  me  an'  Bill  should 
get  five  days  off  to  go  on  a  hunt.  Miss  Anna,  the  day 
we  started,  was  to  get  on  her  horse  like  she  was  a 
goin'  for  a  ride,  an'  then  meet  us  up  at  the  forks  of 
Williams  Creek.  It  takes  about  three  days  to  go  over 
the  mountains  to  Lowrey's,  near  where  Cam.  John 
son  lives,  an'  so  we  took  along  a  camp  outfit  on  a 
couple  of  mules.  Bill  an'  I  each  took  along  a  six- 
shooter  an'  a  Winchester,  an'  ammunition  enough  to 
kill  off  all  the  unwillin'  fathers  in  California.  Me  an' 
Bill  started  as  arranged.  We  went  east  an'  then 
skirted  the  hills  to  the  north,  an'  then  hoofed  past 
Gray's,  an'  come  to  the  forks,  where  we  an'  the 
sweatin'  mules  stopped.  I  felt  somewhat  uneasy. 
It's  risky  business  a  helpin'  a  millionaire's  daughter 
run  away  to  marry  a  buckaroo  with  only  $3,000  an' 
a  Winchester  an'  a  six-shooter  an'  prospects.  Bill 
looked  kind  of  pale  around  the  gills,  but  he  had  that 
twinkle  in  the  eye  which  shore  shows  determination. 
I  got  offen  my  pinto  an'  let  him  go  a  grazin'.  Bill 
took  his  Winchester  outen  the  scabbard  an'  stood  by 
his  bald-faced  horse.  After  what  seemed  a  long 
time  I  heard  the  hoof  beats  of  a  horse  a  comin'  along 
the  trail,  an'  on  lookin'  up  saw  Bill's  girl  a  comin'. 
My,  but  she  was  purty !  She  had  on  a  shore  enough 


58  WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

Stetson,  an'  a  gray  habit,  an'  if  she  didn't  have  a  rifle, 
too.  She  smiled  an'  says,  'LaFayette,  what  are  you 
doing  with  the  rifle  out  of  the  scabbard  ?'  I  up  an' 
says,  'He  just  seen  a  big  buck  up  there  in  the  brush, 
an'  tried  to  get  a  shot  at  him.'  I  didn't  want  Bill  to 
have  to  say  that  he  was  ready  to  shoot  her  fathef  if 
he  had  to.  That  wouldn't  a  done.  Bill  he  walked 
up  to  where  she  was  a  settin'  on  her  bay  an'  took  one 
of  her  hands  in  his,  an'  she  leant  over  an'  kissed  him. 
'Here,  now/  says  I,  'no  spoonin'  while  I'm  in  charge. 
When  I  get  you  all  acrost  the  mountains  before  a 
Justice  of  the  Peace  or  a  Gospel  sharp,  you  can 
spoon,  but  till  then  it's  against  the  rules  of  El 
Capitan.  We  ain't  on  pleasure  bent  now.  Straddle 
your  horse,  Bill.  You  an'  Miss  Morrill  drive  them 
two  mistakes  of  nature  forward.  I'll  ride  away  be 
hind  a  actin'  as  a  sort  of  rear  guard.'  We  hiked  up 
the  trail  this  way  for  a  couple  of  hours,  when  I  come 
up  on  Anna  an'  Bill  a  talkin'  to  Ernie  Mason.  They 
were  a  tellin'  him  we  were  a  goin'  to  Brown's  camp 
for  the  day,  but  Ernie  said  we  must  have  big  appe 
tites  on  a  one-day's  picnic,  havin'  to  have  two  pack 
mules  to  carry  the  grub.  Ernie  had  us  there,  but 
he's  a  good-natured  chap,  an'  didn't  press  the  point. 
If  I'd  a  been  with  'em  when  Ernie  come  along  I'd  a 
told  a  better  story  than  Anna  an'  Bill  did  to  Ernie ; 
but  they  a  bein'  in  love  couldn't  think  of  nothin' 
sensible.  We  rode  on  up  the  mountain,  an'  Ernie 
headed  for  Covelo. 

"Now  I  was  afraid  Ernie  'd  go  to  ol'  man  Morrill 
an'  tell  what  he'd  seen,  an'  so  I  shore  decided  to  make 
all  the  crooks  an'  turns  possible,  an'  to  take  ad- 


A  PERSONALLY  CONDUCTED  ELOPEMENT     59 

vantage  of  every  trail  that  was  known  only  to  me  an' 
Alf  Redfield.  So  we  curved  around  considerable,  an' 
when  we  got  to  Eel  River  we  all  rode  up  the  river 
bed  about  a  mile,  an'  then  come  out  on  some  rocks 
at  a  secret  trail  made  by  me  when  I  was  a  rustlin'  for 
a  livin'.  We  camped  that  night  about  half  way  up 
the  ridge.  The  next  mornin'  early  we  hiked  out,  an' 
kept  a  goin'.  Anna  was  a  standin'  the  trip  fine,  an' 
was  as  gay  as  if  she  was  a  goin'  to  Paris.  Bill  he 
didn't  seem  to  brighten  up  much. 

"He  says  to  me,  'When  we  get  this  affair  over, 
Jake,  then  I'll  feel  easy.' 

"  'I  won't,'  says  I.  'You  an'  Anna  can  hike  out 
for  some  other  place,  but  I've  got  to  go  back  to  the 
Valley,  for  it's  the  only  place  I  know.  I'd  be  like 
a  grand-daddy  longlegs  in  a  hot  skillet  any  place 
else.' 

'  'We're  a  goin'  to  Arizona,  Jake,'  says  he,  'an' 
we  want  you  to  go  along.  I'm  well  acquainted  there, 
an'  can  show  you  to  something  worth  while,  if  you'll 
go  with  us.' 

"  'No,'  says  I,  'I'd  ruther  not.  I  couldn't  leave  the 
old  familiar  places  an'  ol'  Mr.  Doyle  an'  Alf  Redfiek1. 
Arizony's  probably  all  right,  but  it  ain't  no  place 
for  me.' 

"  'Well,'  says  he,  'that's  all  right,  Jake.  Do  as 
you  like,  but  really  I'd  like  to  have  you  go.'  'No,' 
says  I,  'I'd  ruther  not.' 

"We  all  kept  a  goin'.  The  middle  of  the  second 
day  we  crossed  the  range  an'  got  a  sight  of  the  Sac 
ramento  Valley.  We  kept  our  horses  an'  mules  a 
goin'  down  the  trail,  a  passin'  through  what  looked 


60  WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

like  quarries,  then  through  forests  an'  past  big  moss- 
covered  boulders.  It  was  October,  an'  the  leaves  of 
the  scrub  oak  was  red,  an'  of  the  cottonwood,  yellow  ; 
an'  the  horns  of  the  deer  was  out  of  the  velvet,  an' 
the  birds  was  all  grown  up  an'  strong  on  the  wing. 
The  sheep  was  all  out  of  the  mountains,  an'  most 
of  the  cattle.  If  we'd  a  been  on  a  huntin'  trip  I'd  a 
enjoyed  it  all,  but  we  was  probably  a  bein'  hunted. 
I  now  felt  a  little  like  a  deer  must  feel  when  he's  a 
bein'  chased.  It  was  a  mighty  uncertain,  ugly  kind 
of  a  feelhr — a  sort  of  a  vague,  far-off  dread.  I  kept 
a  lookin'  at  my  six-shooter  to  see  that  it  was  ready 
for  action  in  case  of  trouble,  an'  onct  or  twict  I  taken 
my  Winchester  out  of  the  scabbard  an'  tried  the 
lever.  On  the  morning  of  the  third  day  we  all  got 
down  on  level  ground  onct  more,  an'  the  mules  an' 
horses  give  up  their  swingin'  stride.  I  made  up  my 
mind  we'd  go  straight  to  Cam.  Johnson's  house  an' 
he'd  shore  tell  us  what  action  to  take.  I  knowed 
he'd  take  to  the  chance  like  a  collie  does  to  sheep. 
Along  about  when  the  sun  was  a  standin'  right  over 
us  we  all  come  up  to  Johnson's  house.  Cam.  was  to 
home,  an'  so  was  his  third  wife.  He  come  out  to 
see  what  the  cavalcade  all  meant,  an'  his  dogs,  named 
Nero,  an'  Bryan,  an'  Sharkey,  come  a  troopin'  behind 
him. 

"  'Why,  hello,  Jake,'  says  he,  I'm  glad  to  see  you 
over  on  this  side  onct  more.' 

"  'Thanks,'  says  I,  a  shakin'  hands  with  him. 
'Allow  me  to  present  Miss  Anna  Morrill  an'  Lizard 
Bill  Hadley,  Mr.  Johnson.' 

Mr.  Johnson  he  'lowed  he  was  glad  to  meet  'em, 
an'  says  for  us  to  alight,  which  we  done. 


A  PERSONALLY  CONDUCTED  ELOPEMENT     61 

"  '  Now,  Mr.  Johnson/  says  I,  'these  here  young 
people  is  that  foolish  they  want  to  get  married  in  a 
hurry  without  papa's  consent.  Weddin's  is  some 
thing  I  don't  know  much  about,  an'  I've  brought  'em 
over  the  mountains  to  you,  a  knowin'  how  expert 
you  are  in  such  matters.' 

"That  flattery  made  him  swell  up  an'  feel  as  good 
as  if  somebody  had  just  give  him  a  deed  to  some 
wheat  land. 

"  'Come  in,'  says  he,  'an'  let  me  cogitate  about  the 
matter/ 

"We  went  in,  an'  Johnson  introduced  us  to  his 
wife,  the  same  a  bein'  a  nice,  young-lookin'  woman. 

"  'Now  have  you  got  a  license  ?'  he  asks. 

"  'No,'  says  I ;  'but  I'm  a  goin'  to  jump  on  that 
ol'  pinto  of  mine  an'  ride  to  Red  Bluff  an'  back  before 
dark,  bringin'  the  bucklin'  permit  with  me.' 

"  'That's  good,'  says  he ;  'an'  I'll  ride  to  Lowrey's 
an'  get  a  Justice  of  the  Peace.  When  we  gets  them 
ingredients  an'  the  fellow  an'  the  girl  together,  I 
guess  they'll  be  a  weddin',  or  my  name  ain't  Cam. 
Johnson,  an'  I  ain't  known  as  the  "Matchmaker  of 
the  Foothills.''  Myrtle,'  says  he  to  his  wife,  'I  wish 
you'd  start  right  in  now  an'  get  up  a  big  dinner,  so 
when  Jake  gets  back  an'  the  weddin'  's  over  we  kin 
celebrate  the  arrival  of  any  of  the  friends  of  these 
parties  from  over  the  range.' 

"  'Well,  I  won't  lose  no  time,'  says  I,  an'  with  that 
I  went  out  an'  straddled  my  ol'  pinto  onct  more,  an' 
started  for  Red  Bluff  just  a  flyin'.  The  last  thing  I 
saw  as  I  left  Johnson's  was  his  wife  a  sickin'  Nero  an' 
Bryan  an'  Sharkey  after  some  chickens.  I  got  to 


62  WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

Red  Bluff  at  3  P.  M.,  an'  got  the  license  all  right 
enough  for  LaFayette  Hadley,  of  Covelo,  aged  29, 
an'  Miss  Anna  Morrill,  of  Covelo,  aged  23.  Then  I 
jumped  onto  my  horse  an'  started  back  for  Johnson's. 
I  was  pretty  tired,  an'  so  was  the  horse;  but  when 
weddin's  are  concerned  most  people  an'  horses  has  a 
big  energy  reserve.  Along  about  5  o'clock  I  see  the 
Lowrey  stage  just  ahead  of  me,  an'  I  decided  to  pass 
it.  I  come  up  close  to  it,  an'  who  did  I  see  a  settin' 
on  the  front  seat  with  the  driver  but  ol'  Bill  Morrill. 
Now  I've  been  excited  some  in  my  day,  but  on  that 
occasion  my  heart  jumped  as  if  I'd  been  shot  at  by  a 
tenderfoot  I  was  a  makin'  dance.  That  part  of 
Tehama  is  fenced,  an'  they  wasn't  no  way  of  circlin' 
through  the  hills  an'  givin'  the  ol'  man  the  slip.  So 
I  decides  to  ride  boldly  around  the  stage  an'  take 
the  chances  of  the  driver  a  beatin'  me.  I  spurred  up 
my  pinto,  an'  the  way  we  went  around  that  vehicle 
was  a  good  deal  like  the  way  a  jackrabbit  goes  when 
a  hound  gets  after  him.  I  heard  the  ol'  man  holler : 

"  'Wait  a  minute,  Jake.' 

"But  I  didn't  wait.  I  had  business  elsewhere. 
Then  I  heard  a  whip  crack  like  a  repeatin'  rifle,  an' 
the  wheels  rattle,  an'  I  just  spurred  an'  kept  a  spur- 
rin'.  Soon  I  looked  back  an'  the  stage  was  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  behind,  a  comin'  to  beat  a  choo-choo.  The 
driver  was  a  standin'  up  an'  givin'  it  to  the  horses  in 
a  way  that'd  get  him  run  in  in  a  city  by  the  Society 
of  Bein'  Cruel  to  Animals'  man.  My  horse  knowed 
they  was  somethin'  important  in  the  wind,  an'  he  just 
lay  back  his  ears  an'  run  like  a  scairt  coyote.  In 
about  a  half  hour  I  come  in  sight  of  Johnson's  house. 


A  PERSONALLY  CONDUCTED  ELOPEMENT     63 

As  near  as  I  could  make  out,  the  stage  was  about 
three  miles  behind.  I  give  a  whoop,  an'  Cam.  come 
a  runnin'  out,  an'  then  I  waved  the  permit.  In  a 
minute  I  come  a  ridin'  up,  an'  jumped  off. 

"  'Have  you  got  the  Justice  ?'  I  asks,  in  a  anxious 
tone. 

"  'I  have/  says  he. 

"  'Then  have  him  toot  his  bazoo,'  says  I,  'an' 
quick,  for  ol'  man  Merrill's  a  comin',  an'  with  a  light 
in  his  eye  that  shore  shows  he's  ready  for  to  make 
business  for  the  Coroner.  Don't  say  nothin'  to  the 
contractin'  parties  about  it.' 

"  'I  won't,'  says  he.  'We'll  have  the  weddin' 
right  now,  an'  let  the  ol'  man  rave  after  it's  all  over/ 

"We  all  went  in. 

"  'Now,  Mr.  Allen/  says  Johnson,  'dinner's  ready, 
the  license  is  here,  an'  you  can  pipe  your  valves  an' 
make  this  couple  one/ 

"'Will  you  two  stand  up?'  says  the  Justice  to 
them. 

"They  stood  up. 

"  'Now/  says  he  to  Bill,  'do  you  take  this  woman 
for  wife?' 

"  'I  do/  says  Bill,  trembly  like. 

"  'Do  you  take  this  man  for  husband  ?'  says  he 
to  Anna. 

"  'I  do/  says  she,  determined  like. 

'  'Then  I  pronounce  you  man  an'  wife,  an'  may 
God  have  mercy  on  your  souls/  says  he. 

"There  was  a  rattle  of  wheels  an'  the  crack  of  a 
whip.  Bill  give  Anna  a  kiss,  an'  Mrs.  Johnson  did, 


64  WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

too.  I  grabbed  holt  of  my  six-shooter  an'  made 
ready  for  trouble.  I  felt  somebody  grip  my  hand 
tight,  an'  then  whoever  it  was  kissed  me.  I  jerked 
away  an'  looked  out  of  the  door,  an'  ol'  Mr.  Morrill 
was  a  comin'  down  the  walk.  Bill  an'  Anna  took  up 
a  position,  a  holdin'  hands,  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
an'  the  ol'  man  come  a  stalkin'  in  with  angry  mien. 

"  'What  is  the  meanin'  of  this  ?'  he  asks,  sober 
like. 

"  'Nobody  said  anything  for  a  instant,  an'  then 
Anna  she  spoke  up  an'  says : 

"  'It  means,  father,  that  Mr.  Hadley  an'  I  are 
married.' 

"  'Well,  I'm  simply  damned,'  said  the  ol'  man,  a 
takin'  off  his  hat  an'  reachin'  for  his  bandanna,  an' 
me  a  grippin'  my  gun  tight. 

"  'What  did  you  want  to  run  away  for,  when  I've 
always  been  in  hopes  that  you  an'  Mr.  Hadley  'd 
make  a  go  of  it  ?  Ernie  Mason  come  in  three  days 
ago  an'  said  he  thought  you  was  elopin,  an'  I  come 
around  Frisco  way  hopin'  I'd  be  here  on  time  to 
attend  the  weddin'.  Here's  a  deed,  Anna,'  says  her 
father,  'to  half  of  my  property,  an'  a  big  check,  an' 
I  appoint  you  foreman  of  the  whole  business,  Mr. 
Hadley.' 

"Anna  threw  her  arms  around  her  father's  neck, 
an'  Lizard  Bill  Hadley  he  come  forward  a  lookin' 
kind  of  plagued,  an'  offered  his  paw,  which  the  ol' 
gentleman  shook  in  a  glad  way.  An'  so  it  was  over, 
an'  I  felt  like  a  man  that's  been  kicked  by  a  sheep. 
Such  is  the  way  of  love.  You  never  can  tell  what  it'll 
cause  people  to  do,  nor  how  it'll  affect  'em. 


A  PERSONALLY  CONDUCTED  ELOPEMENT     65 

"Johnson  now  spoke  up,  an'  says :  'Mr.  Morrill, 
you  wasn't  in  time  for  the  weddin',  but  you  are  on 
time  for  dinner.  My  wife  here,  my  third  one,  is  a 
mighty  good  cook,  an'  I  hope  when  you  get  done 
eatin'  you  won't  feel  that  your  trip  over  here  was 
made  for  nothin'.' 

"With  that  we  all  went  in  an'  sat  down." 

"What  did  you  get  for  your  trouble,  Jake?"  I 
asked. 

"Me?  Oh,  I  got  laughed  at  by  the  ol'  man  an' 
everybody  in  the  Valley  but  Anna  an'  Bill.  We  three 
never  laughed  at  one  another.  Let's  get  up  an'  have 
breakfast  an'  go  a  huntinV 


WHY  WYLACKIE  JAKE  WENT  TO 
TEHAMA.* 

"No,"  said  Wylackie  Jake,  "I  ain't  never  traveled 
much.  Some  people  travel  around  a  lookin'  for 
health  after  they've  lost  it,  like  old  Mr.  Doyle,  the 
President  of  the  Round  Valley  Sportsmen's  Club,  an' 
others  travels  around  to  preserve  it.  The  first  breed 
of  people  do  a  whole  lot  of  hikin'  around — 'Frisco, 
Del  Monticos  an'  the  like.  The  other  kind  hits  the 
trail  now  an'  then  out  into  the  mountains  when  the 
lilies  of  the  valley  gets  to  pryin'  about  what  become 
of  this  cow  or  that  hog.  Whenever  Sam  Elaine, 
Frank  Bell  or  Tom  Freeman  gets  to  searchin' 
around  for  somethin'  they've  lost,  then  Alf  Redfield 
and  me  has  to  go  to  the  mountains  on  a  huntin'  trip. 
The  more  thorough  they  make  the  search,  the  farther 
Alf  an'  I  go  and  the  longer  we  stay.  They  got  so  in 
quisitive  onct  that  Alf  and  I  had  to  go  clear  to 
Blocksburg,  get  a  job  a  herdin'  baas  an'  stay  out  all 
summer.  But  that  time  Alf  and  I  ought  to  a  had  to 
do  what  we  did.  We  had  shore  raised  particular  fits, 
and  our  summer  around  Blox  was  about  enough  to 

*  This  story  is  republished  here  through  the  kindness  of 
the  San  Francisco  Argonaut,  in  which  weekly  it  was  first 
printed  in  the  issue  of  June  27,  1904,  under  the  title  "  '  High 
Life'  inCovelo." 


WHY  WYLACKIE  JAKE  WENT  TO  TEHAMA  67 

square  the  deal.  Blox  is  a  funny  town.  It's  what 
old  Mr.  Doyle  calls  a  'rum  old  place.'  Why,  in  that 
town  a  fist  fight  doan't  attract  as  much  attention  as 
a  dog  fight.  This  Blox  trip  of  ourn  was  shore  bad 
enough,  but  the  worst  travelin'  I  ever  had  to  do 
arose  out  of  a  joke.  Some  people  thinks  bad 
actions  '11  get  you  into  more  trouble  than  jokes ;  but 
my  experience  is  that  a  good  big  joke  on  Round  Val 
ley  '11  get  a  man  into  more  genuine,  sincere  trouble 
than  anything — except  takin'  a  horse  from  some  fel 
low  that  took  him  from!  some  other  fellow.  The 
longest,  orneriest  trip  I  ever  had  to  take  up  to  date 
to  preserve  my  health  was  over  the  range  to  Tehama 
County,  an'  it  was  all  because  of  a  harmless  joke. 
I  stayed  over  the  range  nigh  on  to  a  year,  an'  that 
shore  shows  how  serious  some  people  took  the  joke. 
"One  day  I  was  a  ridin'  around  lookin'  for  deer 
over  by  that  big  Rattlesnake  Rock  near  where  the 
road  crosses  Eel  River.  I  looked  up  the  road  an' 
see  a  new  rig  a  comin'.  I  knowed  it  was  a  new  rig, 
because  I  didn't  know  the  dog  a  runnin'  ahead  of  it. 
Up  here  we  always  know  who's  a  comin'  on  a  road 
or  a  trail  by  the  dog  that  runs  ahead.  This  here 
dog  was  a  spotted  dog.  I  never  saw  the  likes  of 
him  before,  an'  he  seemed  to  want  to  drink  the  river 
dry.  Pretty  soon  the  rig  comes  up,  an'  damn  me  if 
the  guy  a  drivin'  didn't  have  on  a  stovepipe  hat. 
Out  here,  you  know,  everybody  but  old  Mr.  Doyle 
wears  soft  hats,  an'  he  bein'  the  hotel  keeper  an' 
undertaker  an'  President  of  the  Sportsmen's  Club,  is 
allowed  to  satisfy  his  whim.  When  I  see  that  hard 
hat  I  just  nacherally  wanted  to  rope  that  fellow  an' 


68  WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

drag  him  across  the  river,  but  he  was  such  a  nice 
little  dude-like  man  that  I  says,  politely  enough : 

"  'Afternoon,  pardner.  Ain't  you  out  of  your 
latitude?' 

"  'Maybe  out  of  my  latitude,'  says  he ;  'but  if  I'm 
on  the  Round  Valley  Road,  I'm  in  my  longitude.' 

"  'Well,  pardner,'  says  I,  'you're  on  the  road  all 
right  enough,  an'  if  you  keep  on  a  goin'  you'll  shore 
wind  up  in  Round  Valley ;  but  if  I  was  in  your  place 
I'd  either  get  a  other  kind  of  headgear  or  else  turn 
around  an'  go  back.  The  boys  maybe  '11  stand  for 
that  spotted  dog  of  yourn,  but  they're  mighty  touchy 
on  hats.  They  wants  shorthorns  to  be  peaceful  and 
humble  like,  for  they  ain't  noteriety  enough  in  the 
Valley  to  go  'round',  and  the  buddin'  aspirations  of 
tenderfoots  shore  has  to  be  curbed.' 

"  'I'm  thankful  to  you  for  the  suggestion,'  says 
he,  'an'  shall  now  adopt  your  advice.' 

"With  that  he  opens  a  kind  of  a  hat  alfora  an' 
puts  his  stovepipe  hat  in  it,  an'  then  from  a  valise  he 
brings  out  a  old  soldier  hat  an'  puts  it  on  his  head. 

"  'You  now  looks  like  a  white  man,'  says  I,  'an' 
not  like  a  dude.' 

I  looked  at  his  rig  an'  see  he  was  some  sort 
of  a  peddler. 

"  'You've  been  good  to  me,'  says  he,  'a  puttin' 
me  wise  on  the  hat  proposition,  an'  now  to  show  you 
I'm  not  without  gratitude — which  is  the  milk  of  hu 
man  kindness — I'm  a  goin'  to  give  you  my  last  bottle 
of  a  compound  known  as  "High  Life."  Rubbed  into 
the  hide  of  any  aged  animal  it  makes  him  young 
again;  gives  him  the  fire  of  youth,  a  steady  step,  a 


WHY  WYLACKIE  JAKE  WENT  TO  TEHAMA   69 

keen  eye.  That  pinto  horse  of  yourn  seems  to  be 
old,  an'  your  dog  ain't  no  longer  young,  an'  this 
compound  '11  restore  them  to  their  pristine  vigor.' 

"I  didn't  know  what  he  meant  by  pristine  vigor, 
but  the  rest  of  what  he  said  was  tolerably  plain,  an' 
I  took  the  bottle  an'  thanked  him. 

"  'Good  day,  pardner,'  says  he,  a  drivin'  on. 

"  'S'long,'  says  I  to  him,  an'  with  that  I  rode  off, 
hopin'  to  get  a  buck.  But  deer  wasn't  plentiful,  an' 
so  I  started  for  Covelo. 

"I  got  there  about  three  in  the  afternoon,  an' 
stopped  at  the  blacksmith  shop  to  have  a  little 
chinnin'  with  Alf  Redfield.  Alf  was  a  lettin'  on  to 
work  at  the  blacksmith  shop  then.  Alf  has  let  on  to 
work  for  almost  everybody  in  town.  Whenever  he 
makes  the  entire  round  he'll  have  to  move  to  some 
other  town  or  take  to  rustlin'  as  a  regular  thing,  or 
sellin'  liquor  to  Injuns. 

"Or  Mr.  Doyle  was  a  havin'  his  buggy  fixed  at 
the  shop.  His  horse  was  a  standin'  tied  to  a  post 
near  by.  That  horse  was  a  likely  horse  before  the 
woods  was  burnt,  but  of  late  years  most  all  the 
Injuns  over  on  the  Reservation  has  had  horses  that 
puts  on  more  looks  an'  speed.  Ol'  Mr.  Doyle  has 
got  old  along  with  the  horse.  The  old  man  don't 
know  he's  old,  an'  he  don't  know  the  horse  is  old, 
either;  but  the  horse  does.  Mr.  Doyle  was  in  the 
back  of  the  shop  a  talkin'  to  ol'  Mr.  Putnam,  the 
blacksmith,  an'  Alf  was  lettin'  on  to  be  busy  with 
the  buggy.  I  went  over  to  the  old  horse  an'  began 
for  to  pet  him  an'  talk  nice  to  him,  the  way  a  fellow 
will  talk  to  a  old  horse  that  knows  how  to  behave. 


70  WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

Of  a  suddent  I  thinks  of  my  present  my  hard-hat 
dude  friend  give  me,  an'  I  decided  to  try  some  of  it 
on  ol'  Mr.  Doyle's  horse.  I  slyly  poured  some  out 
into  my  hand  an'  rubbed  it  into  the  old  horse's  back. 
He  didn't  take  on  none,  an'  I  decided  the  tenderfoot 
has  shore  passed  off  some  counterfeit  goods.  Then 
I  stands  a  minute  or  two  a  musin'  on  it,  an'  concludes 
that  maybe  horses  is  too  big  animals  for  the  com 
pound  to  work  on,  an'  maybe  it'd  go  better  on  a  dog. 
"Mr.  Doyle  has  got  a  old  dog  named  'Bruno' 
over  at  his  hotel  which  used  to  be  a  regular  'hell 
womper,'  as  he  puts  it.  He  says  that  ol'  dog  was  a 
better  hunter  than  a  Injun  when  he  was  young.  But 
the  ol'  dog  ain't  good  for  nothin'  now  except  to  lie 
on  the  sidewalk  an'  be  petted.  There's  a  young 
scrappin'  dog  named  'Bull'  that  gives  the  old  fellow 
a  lot  of  trouble  an'  makes  him  wish  he  was  young 
again.  I  decided  to  try  the  compound  on  the  old 
dog,  an'  went  over  to  where  he  was  a  lyin'  in  the 
shade.  I  commenced  to  pet  him,  an'  the  old  fellow 
enjoyed  it  shore  enough.  Then  I  rubbed  some  of 
the  ointment  onto  him,  an'  it  didn't  have  no  effect. 
The  old  dog  just  wagged  his  tail  an'  panted  kind  of 
loud,  the  way  a  old  dog  will,  an'  when  I  quit  rubbin' 
him  lay  down  again.  I  had  tried  the  dude's  com 
pound  on  a  equine  an'  a  canine,  an'  hadn't  got  no 
action.  Thinks  I  to  myself,  a  cat  is  a  nervous  high 
jumper,  a  sort  of  a  ring-tail  speiler  that  shows  his 
bad  health  by  his  uncommon  activity,  an'  maybe  the 
feline  '11  be  affected  where  the  equine  an'  the  canine 
wasn't.  So  I  recollected  that  old  Mr.  Doyle  has  a 
big  cat  named  'Robert  Emmet,'  which  the  same  he 


WHY  WYLACKIE  JAKE  WENT  TO  TEHAMA  71 

is  uncommon  fond  of,  an'  which  sleeps  under  the 
billiard  table  in  the  barroom  of  his  hotel. 

"So  I  ambles  into  the  barroom  an'  pets  the  cat, 
an'  pussy  sagged  in  the  middle  an'  purred  when  I 
touched  him.  The  barkeeper,  he  went  out  to  the  well 
an'  I  rubbed  some  of  the  compound  onto  the  cat,  an' 
would  you  believe  it,  the  cat  just  went  back  under 
the  billiard  table  an'  lay  down  an'  went  to  snoozin' 
again.  I  had  failed  on  the  equine,  the  canine  an'  the 
feline.  I  was  about  to  take  the  bottle  to  the  back 
yard  an'  bust  it  with  my  gun,  when  I  heard  old  Mr. 
Doyle's  parrot  say  'Polly,  pretty  Polly.'  That  puts 
a  new  idea  into  my  head.  Maybe  the  nerves  of  a 
bird  was  different  from  those  of  animals,  an'  per 
haps  the  'compound'  would  work  on  a  bird  where  it 
didn't  work  on  a  animal.  An'  so  I  goes  up  to  the 
polly  an'  says,  Tolly,  pretty  Polly,'  an'  the  parrot 
just  nacherally  put  her  head  out  to  have  it  scratched, 
an'  the  same  I  scratched,  an'  rubbed  her  on  the  back 
with  'High  Life.'  Would  you  believe  it,  that  bird 
wasn't  affected  in  the  slightest.  I  puts  it  up  that 
tenderfoot  dude  has  shore  played  me  for  a  sucker. 

"I  started  for  the  back  yard,  intendin'  to  use  my 
bottle  as  a  target,  for  I  do  love  to  see  glass  fly  when 
a  bullet  hits  it,  when  suddently  I  heard  someone 
holler  'Whoa!'  in  a  anxious  tone  of  voice,  an'  then 
I  heard  a  rattle  of  wheels.  You  bet  I  pulled  my 
freight  to  the  street  mighty  quick,  an'  just  in  time 
to  see  that  ol'  horse  of  ol'  Mr.  Doyle's  rair  up  an' 
paw  the  air  like  a  old  grizzly  that's  been  scratched 
by  a  bullet.  Alf  an  ol'  Mr.  Putnam  an  ol'  Mr.  Doyle 
was  a  tryio.'  to  quiet  the  horseflesh,  but  of  a  suddent 


72  WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

the  old  horse  give  a  bound  an'  jumped  ahead  as  if 
he'd  run  into  a  hornets'  nest.  All  three  of  'em 
hollered  'Whoa/  an'  I  run  out  and  made  believe  I 
was  a  tryin'  to  head  the  old  plug  off.  The  boys  come 
a  pourin'  out  of  the  Dewey  an'  other  places  of  re 
freshment.  Well,  sir,  that  old  horse  that  hadn't 
been  out  of  a  trot  for  years  an'  years  just  seemed  to 
recover  his  'pristine  vigor,'  an'  went  down  that  high 
way  like  a  dog  with  a  tin  can  tied  to  his  tail.  Ol' 
Mr.  Doyle  looked  at  the  cloud  of  dust,  an'  remarked, 
'What  in  hell's  struck  the  old  fool  ?'  An'  Alf  said  he 
guessed  the  old  horse  had  turned  back  to  a  colt. 
They  wasn't  nothin'  down  the  road  but  a  big  cloud 
of  dust.  Tom  Freeman — he's  from  Arizony- — an' 
Sam  Elaine  jumped  onto  their  horses  an'  took  after 
that  old  colt,  an'  everybody  began  a  discussin'  what'd 
come  over  the  old  plug. 

"I  looked  at  the  old  dog,  an'  see  that  he  was 
awake,  an'  that  his  eye  had  a  light  in  it  I  hadn't  seen 
in  years.  Bull  was  a  lyin'  across  the  street  in  the 
shade.  Old  Bruno  got  up  an'  stretched  an'  shook 
himself  an'  began  to  sniff  the  air.  He  seemed  to 
have  a  air  of  conceit  about  him  I  hadn't  seen  since 
Bull  licked  him  the  first  time.  He  started  across  the 
street,  an'  the  bully  dog  began  to  growl.  Bruno  'd 
been  accustomed  to  always  shearin'  off  when  the 
other  dog  growled,  but  this  time  he  just  let  out  one 
savage  snarl,  an'  showed  his  teeth,  an'  then  he  just 
dumb  up  onto  that  other  dog  like  a  bobcat  does  a 
tree.  Now  they  never  was  anything  in  a  cow  town 
that  attracted  the  same  amount  of  attention  as  a  dog 
fight.  When  the  gamblers  an*  loafers  heard  them 


WHY  WYLACKIE  JAKE  WENT  TO  TEHAMA   78 

welcome  growls,  fellows  that  hadn't  budged  when 
the  horse  ran  away,  just  came  a  pourin'  out  of  the 
saloons  like  bees  out  of  a  tree  when  a  old  bear  is  out 
for  honey  for  dinner. 

"And  that  was  shore  a  dog  fight.  The  bully  dog 
was  all  swelled  up  and  conceited  like  at  first,  as  much 
as  to  say,  'Why,  the  idea.'  Old  Bruno  had  the  sym 
pathy  of  the  crowd,  which  shore  cheered  him  on. 
An',  say — well,  I've  been  in  bear  fights  where  there 
was  considerable  whoopin',  an'  hollerin',  an'  snarlin', 
an'  growlin',  and  barkin',  but  this  here  fight  shore 
beat  anything  in  the  way  of  a  scrap  I  ever  seen  or 
heard,  Them  two  dogs  just  clawed,  an'  chawed,  an' 
bit,  an'  scratched,  an'  snarled.  First  one  dog  'd  be 
on  top  an5  then  t'other  dog  'd  be  on  top,  an'  some 
times  they  both  appeared  to  be  on  top,  an'  sometimes 
they  both  appeared  to  be  on  the  bottom.  The  bully 
dog  put  forth  his  best  efforts  at  first,  but  Bruno  kept 
a  gettin'  stronger  as  the  fight  progressed.  When  ol' 
Mr.  Doyle  see  this  he  just  whooped  an'  yelled  'Sick 
'em,  Bruno.  Grab  him.  Catch  him.  Whoop  ee!' 
After  a  while  the  bully  dog  got  enough,  an'  quit 
scrappin',  an'  then  Alf  Redfield  an'  Ike  Wharton 
separated  'em,  an'  the  bully  dog  went  down  the  street 
with  his  tail  atween  his  legs,  an'  ol'  Bruno  a  havin' 
to  be  held  back.  Ol'  Mr.  Doyle  was  plumb  tickled 
to  death.  He  just  petted  ol'  Bruno  so  hard  it 
sounded  as  though  he  was  a  beltin'  him.  Bruno  he 
rubbed  up  against  the  old  man's  leg  an'  wagged  his 
tail  like  somebody  was  a  goin'  to  give  him  a  hunk 
of  meat.  The  loafers  an'  gamblers  went  back  to 
their  loafin'  an'  gamblin/  an'  life  in  Covelo  resooms 
its  natural  condition. 


74  WYLACKIE  TAKE  OF  COVELO 

"Thinks  I  to  myself,  I'd  better  be  a  makin'  myself 
scarce  around  here.  If  that  cat  an'  parrot  get  took 
in  that  barroom  the  way  that  horse  an'  dog  has  been 
took  they  ain't  no  tellin'  just  what'll  happen.  I 
started  for  my  old  pinto,  when  I  heard  a  yowl  that 
made  me  think  a  bobcat  'd  come  to  town  a  lookin' 
for  fodder.  An'  almost  at  the  same  time  I  heard 
Polly  shriek,  'Damn  it,  give  me  a  cracker!'  What 
now  happens  I  wasn't  prepared  for.  Ever  since  the 
parrot  had  been  in  the  barroom  Robert  Emmet  had 
been  a  lookin'  for  parrot  meat  some  day,  but  never 
had  the  nerve  to  tackle  the  bird,  she  pecked  so  sav 
age.  But  now  this  here  compound  shore  gingered 
up  that  cat  so's  he's  ready  for  to  tackle  a  eagle.  An' 
the  parrot,  she  feels  fine,  an'  is  ready  for  any  cat  the 
size  of  a  screechin'  panther.  The  parrot  she  just 
nacherally  took  up  a  position  on  a  shelf  behind  the 
bar,  loaded  with  whisky  bottles  and  jimmy  Johns, 
an'  the  cat  jumped  up  on  the  bar.  The  barkeeper, 
which  the  same  bein'  a  Dutchy,  ain't  got  no  nerve, 
an'  didn't  try  to  stop  the  scrap.  Robert  Emmet  give 
a  jump  at  the  polly,  and  the  polly  pecked  real  hard 
at  him  an'  flopped  her  wings,  an'  whisky  bottles  an' 
jimmy  Johns  fell  off'en  that  shelf  an'  busted  on  the 
floor.  You  never  saw  so  much  good  whisky  go  to 
waste  in  so  short  a  time.  Old  Mr.  Doyle  come  in  an' 
looks  at  the  wreckage  an'  debree,  an'  says  he,  'This 
here  is  a  gettin'  damn  serious,'  an'  with  that  pussy 
give  another  spring  at  Polly,  an'  Polly  hollers,  'Oh, 
give  us  a  rest,'  an'  knocks  the  feline  an'  more  whisky 
bottles  onto  the  floor.  'Stop  them,'  says  ol'  Mr. 
Doyle.  An'  with  that  Alf  Redfield  run  in  an'  got 


WHY  WYLACKIE  JAKE  WENT  TO  TEHAMA   75 

between  the  cat  an'  the  polly,  air  knocked  Robert 
Emmet  away  when  he  was  all  crouched  ready  for 
another  spring.  Polly  flew  over  on  the  bar  an'  flopped 
her  wings  an'  bent  over  an'  then  she  just  flew  right 
out  through  the  door  an'  lit  in  a  oak  tree,  an' 
screeched  an'  hollered  like  a  wild  Injun.  Ol'  Mr. 
Doyle,  he  just  said,  'Well,  what  in  hell  ?'  The  cat 
he  now  calmed  down. 

"The  boys  began  a  discussin'  the  cause  of  all  the 
animal  animation.  I  didn't  say  nothin,'  nor  offer  no 
theeries,  but  by  an'  by  a  little  kid  pipes  up  an'  says, 
'I  seen  Wylackie  Jake  a  rubbin'  somethin'  on  the 
horse  an'  dog.'  'Kid/  says  I,  'you  will  please  to  rec 
ollect  that  small  boys  ain't  to  talk  when  they's  men 
around.'  With  that  somethin'  caught  my  eye  over  at 
the  door,  an'  it  wasn't  on  Mr.  Doyle's  head.  What 
did  I  see  but  that  dude,  a  lookin'  in,  an'  worst  of  all, 
he  shore  had  that  hard  hat  on.  Well,  sir,  afore  I 
knowed  it,  I  pulled  my  gun  an'  just  nacherally  ruined 
that  hat,  a  puttin'  five  holes  through  it,  an'  savin'  one 
for  emergency;  but  they  weren't  no  emergency  in 
that  tenderfoot.  He  was  just  scairt  stiff.  He  was 
the  scairtest  man  I  ever  seen.  I  just  nacherally 
ruined  that  silk,  worm-eaten  catastrophe  of  a  dude 
hat.  The  little  kid  he  pipes  up  again,  the  little  kid 
does,  an'  says,  'Jake  made  that  horse  an'  dog  act  up.' 
'  'What  the  lad  says  is  true,'  says  the  dude,  'if 
Jake  is  the  fellow  that  ruined  my  hat.  This  morning 
I  give  a  fellow  that  looks  like  that  man  there,'  says 
he,  a  pointin'  at  me,  'a  bottle  of  what  they  calls  "High 
Life,"  or  "dope,"  down  at  the  city,  for  some  advice 
he  give  me  about  not  wearin'  a  silk  hat  in  the  Valley, 


76  WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

an'  now  he's  ruined  the  hat,  the  only  fellow  in  the 
Valley  that'd  do  such  a  thing,  as  I've  found  out. 
Step  up  to  the  bar,  gentlemen/  says  he,  'an'  have  a 
drink  with  me.'  Ol'  Mr.  Doyle  he  went  behind  the 
bar  a  laughin',  and  says,  'What's  yourn  ?' 

"Everybody  was  good  natured  an'  willin'  to  drink 
with  the  shorthorn,  an'  things  was  shore  a  stampedin' 
my  way,  until  Jack  Wilson  says,  Til  take  whisky.' 
Then  he  says,  suddently,  as  if  he'd  been  hit  by  a 
rattle  bug,  'Damn  if  the  whisky  ain't  all  on  the  floor. 
The  joke  ain't  so  funny  now.'  Ol'  Mr.  Doyle  he  just 
broke  off  a  smile  right  in  half  an'  roared,  'The  skunk 
that'd  do  a  thing  like  this  ought  to  be  run  out  of  the 
Valley/  an'  Jack  he  chimed  in  an'  said  the  same,  an' 
the  rest  of  the  crowd  looked  as  solemn  as  a  Injun 
funeral. 

"I  makes  my  way  toward  my  old  pinto  plug,  an' 
ol'  Mr.  Doyle  bellowed,  'Stop  him !'  With  that  I  run 
to  my  horse  an'  jumped  into  the  saddle  an'  starts  to 
ride  off. 

"  'Don't  let  him  get  away,  boys.  Remember  the 
whisky/  says  the  old  gentleman.  At  that  Jack  Wil 
son  an'  Ernie  Mason  an'  some  more  lilies  of  the  Val 
ley  jumped  onto  their  horses,  an'  shore  started  for 
me  just  a  flyin'.  They  a  bein'  on  young  horses,  I 
knowed  it  wouldn't  be  long  before  they'd  catch  up 
with  me,  an'  I  didn't  know  what  they'd  do  to  me. 
Suddently  I  bethought  me  of  my  compound,  an'  the 
same  I  takes  out  an'  rubbed  some  on  my  old  pinto. 
Ernie  and  Jack  was  a  gainin'  on  me,  an'  I  was  a 
beginnin'  to  think  I'd  have  to  pull  my  gun  an'  keep 
'em  off.  But  in  a  few  minutes  I  see  that  my  old 


WHY  WYLACKIE  JAKE  WENT  TO  TEHAMA   77 

pinto  plug  was  a  leavin'  'em  behind.  By  the  time 
I  had  got  to  Gray's  I  seen  I  was  out  of  danger,  an* 
my  horse  was  a  gettin'  stronger  at  each  jump.  That 
compound  just  nacherally  made  my  horse  young 
again.  I  made  my  way  over  Leach  Lake  Mountain 
down  to  Eel  River  an'  over  the  range  to  Tehama 
County,  where  I  stayed  there  a  year  afore  I  dared 
venture  back." 


THE   EXIT  OF  A   TENDERFOOT. 

"Whenever  you  get  in  a  place  where  you  ain't  on 
speakin'  terms  with  anybody,"  said  Wylackie  Jake, 
"climb  up  on  some  peak  an'  get  your  bearin's  before 
you  try  to  be  a  good  fellow.  A  man  that  tries  to 
be  smart  an'  a  good  fellow  before  he  knows  the  ways 
of  people  generally  gets  took  down.  A  good  fellow 
is  generally  a  fool  at  best,  but  when  he  tries  to  break 
into  the  band  without  doin'  any  perliminary  pawin' 
an'  bellerin',  he  shows  himself  to  be  completely 
lackin'  in  gumption.  The  big  longhorns  of  the  band 
come  around  an'  look  at  him,  an'  hook  him,  an'  the 
little  calves  let  out  a  lot  of  insultin'  blats,  an'  the 
cows  hike  over  to  the  shade  of  the  cottonwoods  an' 
lie  down. 

"I  mind  me  of  one  case,"  continued  Jake,  "of  how 
a  young  tenderfoot  come  to  Covelo  an'  thought  he 
was  a  goin'  to  prove  himself  to  be  hell  personified. 
He  was  a  college  man,  an'  come  up  here  one  vacation 
a  sellin'  books.  Now,  we  all  '11  stand  for  shorthorns 
if  they  acts  like  shorthorns;  but  fellers  like  me  an' 
Alf  Redfield  an'  Lizard  Bill  Hadley  ain't  a  goin'  to 
stand  for  some  college  dude  with  a  head  of  hair  like 
a  Angora  goat  that  tries  to  act  as  we  do.  We  all 
ain't  what  you  might  call  exclusive,  but  we  ain't  a 
standin'  for  toadstools  a  growin'  in  our  midst.  When 
a  shorthorn  comes  to  Round  Valley  he  don't  want  to 


EXIT  OF  A  TENDERFOOT  79 

do  as  we  Round  Valley  boys  do.  He  wants  to  do  as 
we  all  expects  him  to  do.  If  this  here  college  calf 
that  didn't  have  nothin'  but  little  sproutin'  horns 
hadn't  a  stuck  his  bill  into  our  affairs  an'  tried  to 
act  in  a  sort  of  a  patronizin'  way,  it's  just  possible 
he  would  a  sold  some  books,  instead  of  gettin'  run 
out  of  the  Valley,  like  he  was  a  sheep-killin'  dog. 

"The  college  chap  was  in  Covelo  on  the  Fourth 
of  July — a  bad  time  for  a  dude  to  be  around  that 
didn't  know  he  had  ought  to  follow,  instead  of  tryin' 
to  be  a  bell  wether.  They  had  a  big  barbecue  that 
day.  All  of  the  six  hundred  Injuns  on  the  Reserva 
tion  come  to  town  to  take  part  in  the  pow-wow,  an* 
shore  made  a  fine  sight.  An'  all  of  the  buckaroos 
from  Merrill's  an'  Bell's  ranches  was  there  to  take 
part  in  the  rope-throwin'  an'  ridin'  of  buckin'  broncos 
an'  packin'  of  mules.  There  was  grub  for  every 
Injun  from  Yellow  Jacket  down  to  ol'  Wash-hopper, 
an'  for  every  buckaroo  from  Alf  Redfield  down  to 
ol'  Charlie  Porter,  an'  conversation  water  bubbled  in 
the  barrooms  like  a  perpetual  spring,  an'  everybody 
was  a  feelin'  as  fine  an'  dandy  as  a  girl  at  her  first 
hoedown.  They  wasn't  nothin'  in  the  whole  outfit 
that  looked  as  if  it  had  got  lost,  exceptin'  that  college 
dude.  He  seemed  to  be  everywhere,  an'  had  the  idea 
corraled  that  he  was  a  makin'  himself  agreeable, 
when,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  he  was  a  layin'  the  founda 
tion  for  lots  of  trouble.  He'd  come  into  the  bar 
rooms  ah'  put  his  hands  on  our  shoulders  an'  try  an' 
say  smart  things,  an'  finally  wound  up  by  askin'  to 
be  let  into  a  game  that  me  an'  Tom  Freeman  an' 
Ernie  Mason  an'  Jack  Wilson  was  a  playin'.  We 


80       WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

frowned  down  on  him  like  a  lot  of  sheep  dogs  do  on 
some  little  yelpin'  ki-yi.  But  he  didn't  seem  able 
to  round  up  no  actions  proper,  like  a  little  dog  would, 
an'  so  we  let  him  in,  an'  he  tried  to  talk  big,  but  we 
all  whip-sawed  him  good  an'  plenty,  an'  left  him 
as  high  an'  dry  as  the  big  hook  does  a  salmon  pool 
if  it's  shot  proper.  We  all  felt  that  his  actions  was 
due  to  ignorance,  an'  would  have  excused  him  if  he 
hadn't  a  made  an  all-around  copper-plated  fool  of 
himself  at  the  ball  given  that  night  at  ol'  Mr.  Doyle's 
hotel. 

"We  was  to  dance  in  the  dining  room.  Me  an* 
Alf  Redfield  an'  Lizard  Bill  Hadley  went  to  the 
dance.  We  wasn't  dressed  fit  to  kill,  but  we  was 
togged  out  so  we  was  satisfied  with  ourselves  an' 
with  each  other.  Along  about  nine  o'clock  there  was 
some  sort  of  a  commotion  at  the  door,  an'  when  I 
see  what  come  in  I  almost  went  plumb  loco.  That 
dude  shore  had  more  nerve  than  brains.  What  do 
you  think  of  a  measly  tenderfoot  that  would  come  to 
a  ball  in  a  cow  town  in  a  claw-hammer  coat,  a  shirt 
bosom  as  white  as  the  snow  over  there  on  South 
Yallo  Bally,  an'  a  shirt  stud  a  shinin'  like  the  lantern 
on  a  choo-choo  ?  Well,  I  guess  me  an'  Alf  Redfield 
an*  the  rest  of  the  Round  Valley  boys  felt  poorer 
than  skimmed  whisky  when  we  put  our  blue  flannel 
shirts  an'  silk  handkerchiefs  an'  dogskin  chaps  up 
alongside  of  that  outfit.  It  seemed  to  me  that  there 
was  a  low  buzz  from  the  men  all  over  that  room,  like 
the  buzz  of  a  rattler  before  he  gets  riled  up  much. 
But  the  girls,  of  course,  had  to  see  the  thing  in  a 
different  way.  Any  unusual  happenin'  or  thing  puts 


EXIT  OF  A   TENDERFOOT  81 

a  man  on  his  guard,  while  it  makes  a  woman  fall  in 
love.  Me  an'  Alf  and  Lizard  Bill  an'  some  of  the 
other  boys  was  shoved  off  in  a  corner  by  this  short 
horn.  Did  you  ever  see  a  big  long  train  of  cattle 
cars  full  of  anxious-lookin'  steers  a  lookin'  out  at  the 
green  fields,  lined  up  on  a  side  track,  with  the  choo- 
choo  a  givin'  out  a  few  little  death  rattles,  while 
some  train  with  the  President  of  the  road  aboard 
cuts  past  like  a  comet  ?  That's  the  way  we  all  looked 
an'  felt. 

"The  girls  all  just  beamed  on  that  shorthorn  like 
he  was  a  long-expected  husband  that  had  come  in. 
An'  that  shorthorn  was  knowin'  enough  to  see  that 
he  had  us  all  in  the  corral  a  lookin'  through  the  rails, 
while  he  cracked  his  whip  an'  the  girls  done  his 
biddin'.  Now  I  shore  decides  that  this  ain't  ever  a 
goin'  to  do,  an'  so  I  sets  down  an'  begins  a  thinkin' 
of  some  way  to  put  that  college  dude  out  of  the 
way.  After  I  figures  on  it  for  a  few  minutes  I  gets 
Alf  Redfield  an'  Lizard  Bill  Hadley  an'  Ike  Wharton 
an'  Jim  Randolph  an'  Johnnie  Gray  to  go  outside 
with  me,  an'  I  laid  down  my  plans  to  'em.  I  told  the 
boys  that  this  here  tenderfoot's  success  was  a  goin' 
to  set  up  a  rule  that  others  'd  try  to  follow,  an'  that 
we  had  ought  to  nip  his  buddin'  tender  aspirations 
like  the  frost  does  a  persimmon.  The  boys  all  'lowed 
that  this  was  so,  an'  Alf  he  up  an'  says,  'What's  your 
scheme,  Jake?'  I  up  an'  says,  'Well,  ol'  Tom  Kai, 
the  Injun  medicine  man,  has  a  been  predictin'  that 
they'll  shore  be  a  Injun  rair-up  in  these  parts  soon, 
an'  I  don't  see  no  objectin'  to  it  a  happenin'  right 
here  an'  now.'  The  boys  all  'lowed  that  was  so,  an' 


82  WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

I  says,  'Well,  let's  us  be  the  Injuns  an'  make  a  raid  on 
that  dance  hall/  'That's  a  bully  scheme/  says  Alf, 
an'  the  rest  of  the  outfit  agreed.  'Then/  says  I,  'if 
you  all  agree  to  it,  let's  go  an'  get  some  feather 
dusters  an'  lampblack  over  here  at  Joe  Harper's 
store,  an'  Joe  '11  shore  let  us  have  some  blankets  to 
wrap  up  in,  an'  then  well  go  into  that  dance  hall 
an'  bust  up  the  hoedown.' 

"We  all  started  for  Joe's  store,  an'  as  we  went 
past  the  dance  I  looked  in  at  the  window,  an'  that 
shorthorn  was  a  leadin'  a  Virginia  reel  with  my  girl, 
an'  she  was  a  smilin'  at  him  an'  a  lookin'  happier  than 
she  ever  did  when  I  was  with  her.  That  made  me 
about  as  snarlin'  mad  as  a  wildcat  when  he  puts  his 
foot  into  a  trap.  We  all  went  to  the  store  an'  told  Joe 
the  scheme,  an'  he  took  to  it  like  a  Injun  does  to 
whisky.  He  brought  out  the  dusters  an'  the  lamp 
black,  an'  told  us  to  help  ourselves  to  anything  we 
wanted,  as  he  thought  that  this  here  white  man's 
country  was  a  bein'  put  to  the  bad  by  a  lot  of  short 
horns  that  didn't  know  a  dove  from  a  quail,  an'  he 
hoped  we'd  make  this  a  lesson  so  that  them  that  bore 
the  tenderfoot  brand  could  read  it.  That  was  a 
mighty  fierce-lookin'  band  of  Injuns.  We  rubbed 
lard  onto  our  faces,  an'  then  followed  that  up  with 
lampblack.  Of  course  Injuns  ain't  just  what  you 
would  call  black,  but  we  'lowed  that  everybody  in 
the  ballroom  'd  be  so  scairt  they  wouldn't  have  time 
to  think  about  that.  Then  we  all  fixed  the  feather 
dusters  so's  they  looked  like  Injun  topknots,  wrapped 
some  red  blankets  around  ourselves,  an'  was  ready 
for  the  opry  to  begin.  We  all  sneaked  out  of  Joe's 


EXIT  OF  A  TENDERFOOT  83 

store  an'  went  up  clost  to  the  dance  hall.  I  told  the 
boys  to  do  exactly  as  I  done,  an'  they  shore  agreed 
to.  They  had  the  idea  that  I  knowed  what  I  was 
about,  an'  trusted  me.  When  we  got  to  the  door  I 
pulled  my  gun  an'  let  drive  a  couple  of  times,  an'  give 
a  blood-curdlin'  yell  we  all  use  when  we're  a  tryin' 
to  scare  some  sense  into  sheep.  All  of  the  Injuns 
done  the  same,  an'  then  I  run  again  the  door,  an'  it 
flew  open  with  a  bang,  an'  me  an'  Alf  an'  all  of  the 
rest  hiked  in.  They  was  a  dancin'  a  Virginia  reel, 
an'  olj  Mr.  Doyle  an'  the  tenderfoot  seemed  to  be  the 
bell  wethers.  I  give  a  terrible  screech,  an'  Alf  an'* 
the  rest  blowed  off  yowls  that  sounded  like  a  dozen 
red-eyed  cougars  had  struck  the  place,  an'  then  I 
commenced  to  dance  a  Injun  dance,  a  gruntin'  an'  a 
singin'  in  the  Porno  lingo.  Everybody  in  the  room 
tumbled  to  who  we  was,  I  guess,  but  some  of  the 
girls  an'  that  tenderfoot.  I  took  a  shot  at  one  of  the 
lamp  chimbleys,  an'  Alf  blazed  into  the  floor,  an'  Tom 
Freeman  fell  over  like  he  was  shot,  an'  then  Ernie 
Mason  an'  some  more  bluffed  that  they  was  a  comhr 
forward  as  a  rescue  party,  an'  then  Johnnie  Gray 
fell  over.  I  edged  toward  that  tenderfoot.  The  rest 
of  the  Injuns  went  for  Tom  Freeman  to  get  his 
scalp,  an'  fought  with  Ernie  an'  the  rest.  When  I 
got  clost  up  to  that  shorthorn  I  let  out  a  roar  that 
must  have  sounded  like  the  yowl  of  a  bobcat,  the 
screech  of  a  cougar  an'  the  bellow  of  a  mad  bull,  an' 
I  guess  that  tenderfoot  thought  he'd  run  up  agin' 
ol'  Geronimo  an'  the  Kid  an'  Sittin'  Bull  an'  Yellow 
Jacket  an'  old  Tom  Kai  all  rolled  into  one.  Alf  Red- 
field  come  to  help  me,  an'  we  hustled  the  life  of  the 


84  WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

reel  toward  a  corner,  a  makin'  most  frightful  faces, 
an'  a  hollerin'  like  we  was  a  roundin'  up  hogs.  The 
tenderfoot  wasn't  a  goin'  very  fast,  an'  was  a  little 
game.  If  he  hadn't  a  been  so  fly  as  to  dance  with  my 
girl,  the  chances  are  I  would  a  quit;  but  when  I 
thinks  of  that  I  resolves  to  do  my  damnedest,  an' 
make  this  a  example  to  high-flyin'  tenderfoot  buz 
zards.  So  me  an'  Alf  kept  a  forcin'  him  toward  the 
corner,  an'  finally  when  I  pointed  my  gun  at  him 
he  turned  an'  run,  an'  then  Alf  grabbed  him,  an'  I 
come  up  clost  an'  seized  holt  of  the  claws  on  that  coat 
an'  cut  'em  off,  an'  then  hollered  to  Alf  in  Injun  to 
let  go,  an'  Alf  did,  an'  then  the  shorthorn  broke 
through  the  door  an'  shore  stampeded  for  the  tall 
timber,  an'  we  all  after  him  like  we  was  a  goin'  to 
scalp  him.  I  heard  ol'  Mr.  Doyle  say,  'Don't  get 
scairt,  ladies,  it's  only  Wylackie  Jake  an'  the  rest  of 
them  rapscallions.'  That  tenderfoot  shore  must  a 
been  a  athlete,  for  he  run  like  a  antelope.  We  all 
come  a  runnin'  after  him,  a  yellin'  an'  howlin'  an' 
shootin',  but  we  couldn't  never  catch  up  with  him. 
A  man  would  a  had  to  straddle  a  flash  of  chain 
lightnin'  an'  a  quirted  it  an'  a  spurred  it  till  the  blood 
run,  an'  then  I  doubt  whether  he  could  a  ketched  up 
with  that  dude.  We  run  in  his  direction  for  quite 
a  piece,  a  keepin'  up  the  Injun  racket,  an'  then  I  bust 
out  with  a  big  loud  laugh  in  United  States,  an'  the 
other  boys  done  the  same,  an'  we  built  a  bonfire  an' 
held  a  pow-wow  right  there. 

"Since  then  we  ain't  been  troubled  up  here  with 
fresh  boys  that  don't  know  a  pine  tree  from  a  fir 
tree.  When  a  tenderfoot  comes  here  now  he  be- 


EXIT  OF  A  TENDERFOOT  85 

haves  in  the  way  he's  expected  to,  for  he  hears 
about  what  happened  to  that  college  dude  at  every 
stop  the  stage  makes — Calpella,  Traveller's  Home, 
Long's,  an'  Eden  Valley — an'  shore  decides  that  he 
won't  be  Jimmy  Fresh  when  he  gets  to  where  the 
Round  Valley  Boys  live  an'  work  an'  play." 


DOYLE,  J.    P. 

SIDELIGHTS  ON  THE  CAPERS  OF  THE  LAW  IN  COVELO. 

Wylackie  Jake  and  I  were  taking  turns  in 
"toting"  a  deer  to  camp.  The  slaughtered  quarry 
was  large  and  heavy,  and  made  a  troublesome 
burden.  We  came  to  a  spring,  and  Jake,  who  was 
carrying  the  future  "frys,"  laid  him  down,  set  his 
gun  against  a  rock,  got  down  on  his  hands  and  knees, 
and  bent  over  and  drank.  I  also  took  a  drink.  Jake 
rolled  a  cigarette,  then  sat  down  on  a  charred  log 
and  looked  at  the  deer.  I  said  nothing,  for  I  knew 
that  Jake's  actions  were  the  prelude  to  a  remi 
niscence. 

"A  big  deer,"  said  Jake,  "is  a  bothersome  load  to 
pack.  A  hunter  always  wants  to  kill  a  buck,  an' 
after  he  kills  him  an'  thinks  of  gettin'  him  into  camp, 
he  wishes  he'd  let  the  animal  with  a  tree  on  his  head 
continue  to  loaf  around  salt  licks  an'  brush  patches. 
They's  only  one  thing  I  know  of  that's  more  trouble 
some  'an.packin'  a  deer  to  camp,  an'  that's  a  gettin' 
into  trouble  so  genuinely  that  law  has  to  be  called 
to  get  you  into  it  deeper.  Tears  as  though  when 
trouble  comes  after  a  man  red-eyed,  law  had  ought 
to  step  out  from  behind  the  brush  an'  stop  it  in  its 
stampedin'  career.  But  instead  of  that,  law  shoves  a 
man  out  into  the  lake  of  trouble  until  he  gets  in  over 


DOYLE,  J.   P.  87 

his  head.  I  ain't  never  been  in  trouble  that  deep  but 
onct,  an'  that  time  I  touched  bottom  three  times,  an' 
felt  that  somethin'  had  a  mighty  tight  grip  on  my 
throat.  I  recollect  that  I  give  up  all  hope  of  a  rescue 
party.  When  I  come  to  they  was  a  bailin'  the  law  out 
of  me.  An'  it  was  all  over  a  dog. 

"It's  strange  what  people  that  ain't  got  no  sym 
pathy  with  sufferin'  humanity  '11  do  for  a  dog.  Now 
I  ain't  a  man  to  look  down  on  canines.  They  shore 
has  their  part  to  play  in  this  world,  as  sheep,  an' 
cougars,  an'  stock,  an'  purrin'  pussies  well  knows. 
The  fault  don't  lie  with  the  dogs,  but  with  their 
owners.  A  dog  is  just  a  dog — if  you  let  him  alone. 
Treat  a  dog  like  he  was  a  dog  an'  he'll  do  anything 
for  you  that  a  canine  can ;  but  treat  him  like  he  was 
a  human  bein',  you  ain't  no  longer  got  a  dog,  an'  you 
shore  ain't  got  no  human  bein'.  Dogs  knows  their 
place  until  human  bein's  makes  'em  forget  it.  'Stead 
of  havin'  a  society  for  the  preventin'  of  knockin'  the 
daylights  out  of  lop-eared  mules,  an'  balky  burros, 
an'  rearin'  horses,  they  ought  to  be  a  aggregation  for 
the  preventin'  of  half-way  humans  a  makin'  fools  of 
animals.  Now  th^y  ain't  no  finer  sight  than  a  shep 
herd  dog  a  watchin'  sheep,  an'  they  ain't  nothin' 
nobler  'an  a  good  hound.  An'  they  shore  ain't  no 
more  disgustin'  sight  than  to  see  a  person  treat  some 
little  pug  dog  like  it  was  a  infant.  The  dog  don't 
enjoy  it. 

"Onct  I  was  out  on  Leach  Lake  Mountain,  at 
Brown's  Camp,  a  herdin'  a  bunch  of  ol'  Bill  Merrill's 
sheep.  Jack  Johnson  was  my  pardner.  Jack  done 
time  in  San  Quentin  onct  for  bein'  mixed  up  in  the 


88  WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

Payne  murder.  He  wasn't  good  to  look  at,  but  he 
was  shore  a  good  herder.  He  knowed  sheep  an'  their 
ways,  an'  sheep  knowed  that  he  did.  Jack  had  a  dog 
named  Andy,  which  the  same  was  a  uncommon  sort 
of  a  canine,  knowin'  more  about  how  to  handle  mut 
ton,  when  let  alone,  an'  me.  When  the  dog  was  with 
me  he  always  done  first  class,  an'  acted  like  a  dog; 
but  when  he'd  get  with  his  master  he  wasn't  the  same. 
Then  he  acted  like  he  was  half  natural,  an'  half  like 
he  was  a  tryin'  to  be  some  new  kind  of  a  species,  he 
didn't  know  just  what. 

"I've  lived  on  the  frontier  most  of  my  life.  I 
ain't  civilized  like  a  city  man  that  wears  a  silk  hat  an' 
one  glass  instead  of  a  pair  of  specs.  But  I  ain't  a 
Digger  Injun.  I  like  things  fair  to  middlin',  an'  I 
shave  at  least  onct  a  week.  I  like  to  be  half-way 
decent  about  my  eatin'.  Now,  it  was  this  desire  of 
mine  to  be  some  polite,  mixed  up  with  Andy  an'  his 
master  that  led  me  into  Ol'  Man  Trouble's  corral. 
Jack  Johnson  never  was  civilized,  an'  never  could  be. 
It  wasn't  in  his  make-up.  He  lived  as  a  squaw  man 
before  he  was  sent  up,  an'  when  he  come  back  I  seen 
that  Gatlin'  gun  towers  an'  Winchester  rifles  a 
frownin'  down  on  the  prison  yard  hadn't  turned  him 
into  a  lily  of  the  valley.  Jack  'd  let  Andy  eat  out  of 
the  fryin'  pan.  Now  I  suppose  I'm  some  fastidious, 
as  you'd  say,  but  I  cain't  eat  with  a  dog.  Jack  could. 
I  told  Jack  that  I  wisht  he'd  learn  his  dog  better 
habits,  an'  Jack  said  if  I  didn't  like  his  manners  I 
needn't  eat  with  him  an'  his  dog.  Now  I  don't  like 
to  be  rowin'  with  my  herder  pardner,  but  ruther  'an 
stand  for  a  half  human,  half  dog  animal  a  lickin'  his 


DOYLE,  J.  P.  89 

chops  over  what  I'm  a  goin'  to  eat,  I'll  do  most  any 
thing.  So  I  up  and  told  Jack  that  if  he  didn't  teach 
his  dog  new  table  manners  I'd  send  him  to  the  place 
where  dogs  don't  have  to  eat.  Jack  said  that  his  dog 
was  a  dog  of  the  old  school,  an'  that  it  wasn't  possible 
to  learn  his  dog  new  manners.  The  canine  was  a 
hangiir  around  camp  then,  an'  he  marched  up  to  the 
fryiir  pan,  which  Jack  had  just  took  off  the  fire,  an' 
grabbed  a  slice  of  nice  venison  rolled  in  flour,  an' 
commenced  to  eat  it. 

''What  are  you  a  goin'  to  do  about  it?'  asks 
Jack. 

"An'  I  up  air  says,  'I'm  a  goin'  to  kill  him.  He's 
a  good  sheep  dog,  but  his  style  of  etiquette  ain't  in 
harmony  with  my  sentiments,  an'  I'm  a  goin'  to  give 
you  a  chance  to  make  some  sausage  meat.' 

"With  that  I  pulled  my  gun,  an'  ol'  Jack  he  jumps 
up  an'  runs  for  his  Winchester,  a  savin',  'If  you  kill 
my  dog,  I'll  kill  you.' 

"Now  ol'  Jack  was  that  desperate  that  he 
wouldn't  a  scrupled  at  killin'  anybody  if  he  felt  like  it, 
an'  so  I  turns  the  gun  on  him,  an'  hollers  at  him,  'If 
you  touch  that  gun  I'll  shoot.' 

"Ol'  Jack  he  stopped  air  faced  me.  He  wasn't 
five  feet  from  his  gun.  I  didn't  want  to  have  to  kill 
him,  even  though  the  world  would  a  been  a 
lot  better  off  without  him,  unless  I  had  to, 
but  there  [  was  a  coverin'  him  to  keep  him 
away  from  his  rifle,  an'  if  I  let  up  for  a  in 
stant  he'd  get  it  an'  kill  me.  We  just  stood  there 
a  lookin'  at  each  other,  an'  the  dog  just  nacherally 
a  eatin'  up  all  they  was  in  the  pan.  How  long  I  held 


90  WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

that  gun  on  that  old  ruffian  I  don't  know,  air  ain't 
got  no  idea,  but  it  seemed  to  me  like  a  month  made 
up  of  the  longest  days  in  the  year.  At  last  I  heard 
hoof  beats,  an'  so  did  oF  Jack.  1  just  kept  the  gun  on 
him,  for  he  was  a  unforgivin'  old  cuss.  Then  I  heard 
Tom  Freeman's  and  Ernie  Mason's  blabbers  a  goin,' 
an'  then  Tom  yelled,  'God's  sake,  don't  kill  him, 
Jake.' 

"I  never  turned  around,  but  I  says,  'I  will  if  he 
tries  to  get  that  gun.' 

"Ernie  he  rode  in  between  us,  air  Tom  he  went 
an'  grabbed  the  oF  man's  gun.  Ernie  he  made  me 
give  up  my  gun.  Then  old  Jack,  he  said,  'I'm  a  goin' 
to  take  the  law  to  Jake  for  tryiir  to  murder  me.  He 
was  a  goin'  to  shoot  me  for  doubtin'  his  word  just 
as  you  all  come  up,  an'  I  was  a  tryiir'  to  get  my  rifle 
to  defend  myself.  My  word's  as  good  as  Jake's  any 
day,  an'  I'm  always  ready  to  defend  my  opinions,' 
says  the  old  liar. 

'T  just  up  an'  says:  'Well,  gentlemen,  I'm  ready 
to  go  where  you  say.  I  ain't  afraid  of  ol'  Jack  nor 
law  neither,  when  I'm  on  one  side  an'  them  two  is  on 
the  other.  The  only  thing  that's  a  botherin'  me  is 
this  bunch  of  sheep.  What's  a  goin'  to  happen  to 
them  if  we  all  go  to  Covelo  ?'  OF  Jack  he  up  an'  said 
that  they  wasn't  no  need  of  him  a  goin'  yet,  an'  that 
Tom  an'  Ernie  could  take  me  to  Covelo  an'  then  have 
somebody  sent  out  to  take  my  place  and  his'n,  an' 
he'd  come  to  town  an'  help  persecute  the  case.  I 
didn't  want  to  go,  but  when  a  man's  got  to  do  a 
thing,  he  had  ought  to  do  it  without  makin'  monkey 
faces.  So  I  told  'em  that  I  was  ready  to  go,  an'  that 


DOYLE,  J.   P.  91 

they  couldn't  start  any  too  quick  to  suit  me,  nuther. 
So  after  dinner  me  an'  Tom  an'  Ernie  started  for 
Covelo.  Tom  rode  ahead  a  packin'  a  Winchester, 
then  I  come,  an'  Ernie  brought  up  the  rear,  with  a 
gun  in  his  belt.  Now  they  ain't  no  fun  in  bein'  on 
the  trail  under  such  conditions.  They  let  ol'  Jack 
keep  his  gun,  which  wasn't  fair,  an'  I  was  afraid  the 
old  ex-con  'd  bushwhack  me,  an',  besides,  Ernie  an' 
Tom  an'  me  never  was  good  friends. 

"But  nothin'  stirrin'  happened,  an'  late  that 
evenin'  we  all  rode  into  Covelo,  an'  I  was  shet  up  in 
the  one-horse  calaboose.  I  was  somewhat  riled  up. 
If  you've  ever  seen  a  rattlesnake  all  coiled  up,  with 
his  tongue  a  runnin'  in  an'  out,  his  eyes  a  emittin' 
sparks,  an'  his  old  rattles  a  buzzin'  away  like  a  caucus 
of  locusts,  you've  got  some  idea  of  how  sincerely  mad 
I  really  was.  Alf  Redfield,  my  old  pardner,  hap 
pened  to  be  in  town,  an'  heard  about  me  a  bein'  shut 
off  from  fresh  air  an'  the  bleating  of  sheep,  an'  he 
come  to  see  me.  Alf  said  he  was  glad  to  see  me,  but 
that  he  didn't  like  the  place  I  chose  to  hole  up  in.  He 
said  as  far  as  he  could  see  I  had  to  have  bars  over 
my  windows  to  keep  my  friends  from  breakin'  in. 
Alf  always  did  like  to  joke. 

"I  says,  'Alf,  this  ain't  no  spasm  of  laughter  I'm 
mixed  up  in  now.  Ol'  Jack  '11  tell  any  kind  of  a  lie, 
an'  the  chances  is  he'll  have  some  more  like  himself 
on  deck  to  swear  me  to  the  big  free  boardin'  house 
kept  by  the  State  for  the  unluckies.' 

"  'Don't  worry,  Jake,'  says  he.  I'll  do  what  I 
can  for  you,  an'  you  kin  rest  assured  that  it'll  be 
somethin'  more  than  usual.  Ol'  Jack  Johnson  is  a 


92  WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

pretty  ugly  old  customer,  but  he'll  find  out  before  he 
gets  done  with  us  that  he  ain't  got  the  world  by  the 
tail.'  I  give  Alf  my  hand,  an'  he  give  me  his,  an' 
with  that  he  went  out  without  sayin'  another  word. 

"Two  days  after  that  a  feller  come  an'  got  me  an' 
took  me  over  before  ol'  Mr.  Doyle,  the  Justice  of  the 
Peace.  The  feller  said  that  he  was  a  Constable,  an' 
he  looked  like  he  was  a  fool  of  some  breed  or  other, 
havin'  two  six-shooters  in  his  belt  an'  a  Bowie  knife 
in  his  boot.  The  Constable  an'  the  Judge  had  just 
been  elected,  an'  they  didn't  know  no  more  about 
law  than  a  Injun  full  of  whisky.  Ol'  Jack  Johnson 
come  into  court  with  his  gun  a  hangin'  in  his  belt. 
Pretty  soon  I  heard  a  uproar  in  the  street,  loud  talkin' 
an'  a  noise  like  they's  a  lot  of  people  comin',  an'  in  a 
instant  in  come  Alf  Redfield,  an'  Ike  Wharton,  an' 
Lizard  Bill  Hadley,  an'  Johnnie  Gray,  an'  about  eight 
other  fellows.  Every  one  of  'em  had  on  a  shore 
enough  Stetson,  an'  a  gun  a  hangin'  in  his  belt. 

"After  a  long  time  ol'  Mr.  Doyle,  the  Justice  of 
the  Peace,  come  in  a  wearin'  of  his  plug  hat,  an'  then 
Tom  Freeman  an'  Ernie  Mason  come  a  gallivantin' 
in.  OF  Mr.  Doyle  he  took  off  his  hat  an'  polished 
it  with  his  sleeve,  sat  down,  cleared  his  throat,  an' 
looked  over  the  courtroom.  Then  he  up  an'  says, 
'Air  you  ready  in  the  case  of  Frank  Perry,  alias 
Wylackie  Jake,  charged  with  assault  to  commit 
homicide  ?' 

"I  up  an'  blurted  out  that  the  funeral  procession 
could  start  at  onct. 

"Then  the  ol'  gentleman  he  up  an'  said,  'I  ain't 
up  much  on  law,  havin'  just  been  selected,  but  Jack 


DOYLE,  J.   P.  93 

Johnson  here,  the  persecutin'  witness,  has  seen  some 
law,'  says  he,  a  laughin',  'an'  knows  the  ways  of  met 
ropolitan  courts  like  Wylackie  Jake  knows  the  ways 
of  stock,  an'  I'm  a  goin'  to  appoint  him  bouncer. 
Jack,'  says  he,  'you  kin  consider  yourself  appointed.' 

"The  ol'  Judge  now  looks  over  his  specs  at  me, 
an'  says  he,  'Jake,  have  you  got  a  lawyer  ?' 

"  'No,'  says  I,  'I  ain't.  I'm  perfectly  willin'  to 
leave  my  case  to  the  ignorance  of  the  Court.' 

"  'What's  that  ?'  asks  the  ol'  man,  in  a  suddent 
quick,  mad-like  way,  an'  ol'  Jack  Johnson  he  took 
holt  of  his  gun  an'  looked  as  savage  as  a  cougar  up  a 
tree  with  a  dog  on  the  ground  a  tryin'  to  climb  up, 
an'  Alf  Redfield  an'  the  rest  of  the  boys  made  ready 
for  trouble.  'Oh,'  said  I,  'I  ain't  up  on  law  an'  law 
terms,  an'  maybe  I  didn't  drive  them  words  of  yourn 
into  the  right  corral.  If  I  said  anything  not  strictly 
accordin'  to  Hoyle,  why  I'm  the  last  man  in  the  world 
that  won't  take  water.' 

"  'You  have  shore  insulted  the  Court,'  says  ol' 
Mr.  Doyle ;  'but  as  you  seem  to  be  serenely  repentant 
I'm  a  goin'  to  ride  on  without  takin'  any  notice  of  it.' 

"Then  the  old  man  he  looked  over  his  window 
panes  an'  says,  'Alf  Redfield  an'  the  rest  of  you,  what 
have  you  got  them  guns  on  for  in  this  here  temple 
of  justice?' 

"Alf  he  just  grinned  an'  said  that  him  an'  the  rest 
of  the  boys  'd  come  there  to  see  that  Wylackie  Jake 
wasn't  a  bein'  made  to  play  in  a  game  where  the 
cyards  was  branded.  The  ol'  man  'lowed  that  he'd 
see  that  I  got  a  even  break,  with  no  odds  to  the 
dealer,  an'  then  he  told  Alf  to  round  up  all  of  the 


94  WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

weapons  of  everybody  exceptin'  the  bailiff's,  an'  give 
'em  a  tag  for  'em,  an'  leave  'em  outside  of  the  door, 
as  he  didn't  propose  to  have  blind-eyed  Justice  brow 
beat  by  a  lot  of  six-shooters.  This  a  havin'  been 
done,  the  ol'  man  said  that  he  was  ready  for  the  mill 
to  commence  grindin'  out  grist.  Then  he  up  an'  says, 
4  Who's  your  first  witness,  Jack  ?'  Jack  he  said,  Tom 
Freeman.'  Tom  come  forward,  with  his  mustache 
all  curled,  an'  raised  up  his  left  hand  to  be  sworn. 
Tom  an'  everybody  in  the  courtroom  but  me  an'  the 
Judge  had  his  skypiece  on.  When  Tom  raised  up  his 
left  hand  to  be  cussed,  ol'  Jack  Johnson  come  to  life 
as  quick  an'  suddent  as  a  grouse  flies  out  of  a  tree,  an' 
he  yanked  his  six-shooter  out  an'  covered  the  witness 
with  about  the  same  kind  of  ugly  action  as  a  rattle 
snake  shows  when  he  draws  his  flat  head  back  to 
strike,  an'  says  he,  in  his  meanest  tone,  'Take  .off 
your  hat  an'  put  up  your  other  prop.'  He  added  a 
few  lively  words,  a  usin'  one  expression  that  many  a 
man  in  the  Wrest  has  been  killed  for  usin'.  Tom  he 
up  an'  took  off  his  hat,  air  elevated  his  other  hand, 
an'  ol'  Mr.  Doyle  says,  in  his  blandest  tone,  'That's 
right,  Jack,  maintain  the  dignity  of  the  Court ;  that's 
your  job.' 

"Tom  he  says,  'This  beats  hell  an'  Arizony  rolled 
together.' 

"  'Gentlemen,'  says  the  ol'  Judge,  'you  mustn't 
let  your  angry  natures  slop  over.  Don't  use  such 
undignified  language  in  the  presence  of  this  august 
Court  or  I'll  be  damned  if  I  don't  send  you  all  to 
San  Quentin  for  life.' 

"Tom  now  began  to  tell  about  what  he  saw,  an' 


DOYLE,  J.    P.  95 

told  the  truth  as  nearly  as  Tom  could.  When  he  had 
finished  with  his  statement,  ol'  Mr.  Doyle  he  says, 
'Do  you  want  to  examine  this  here  witness,  Jake?' 
'No/  says  I ;  'he's  told  the  truth  as  well  as  he  knows 
how.' 

"  'Careful,'  says  the  ol'  man  to  me,  'every  word 
you  admit  is  a  goin'  to  be  used  again  you.' 

"  'That's  all  right/  says  I.  'It's  my  deal  later  on, 
an'  they'll  be  some  right  smart  hands  dealt  out,  too, 
an'  don't  you  forget  it.' 

"Then  Ernie  Mason  he  clumb  up  on  the  stand  an' 
told  what  he  knowed,  which  wasn't  enough  to  con 
vict  a  chipmunk  of  stealin'  a  crumb  of  bread  from  a 
open  Dutch  oven.  Then  it  was  ol'  Jack's  turn.  He 
ambled  up  to  the  stand  an'  sat  down  like  he  was  per 
fectly  to  home,  an'  then  he  began  to  talk  about  the 
corpus  gesti  an'  the  res  delicti,  an'  I  says  that  I  ob 
jected  to  the  question  of  my  innocence  a  bein' 
clouded  over  by  a  lot  of  Chink  words.  Ol'  Jack  said 
they  was  Latin  words,  that  he'd  heard  his  lawyer 
use  'em  the  time  he  was  sent  up.  'That's  probably 
why  you  was  sent  up/  says  I.  'If  he'd  spoke  in  plain 
United  States,  they's  just  the  slimmest  chance  in  the 
world  the  jury  would  a  taken  a  more  charitable  view 
of  your  case.'  Ol'  Mr.  Doyle  now  butted  in,  an'  he 
says:  'Jack,  I  ain't  up  on  them  old-time  languages, 
an'  I  wisht  you'd  confine  your  language  in  the  Eng 
lish  or  Injun  corrals,  an'  not  go  wanderin'  around 
like  a  stray  hog.' 

"  'Now  that  everybody  else  is  done  a  talkin'/ 
says  ol'  Jack,  'I'll  go  on  an'  tell  what  I  know  about 
this  case/ 


96  WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

"He  told  how  him  an'  me  had  been  a  talkin',  an' 
how  he  said  something  an'  that  I'd  doubted  his  word, 
an'  that  he  got  up  from  eatin'  to  stir  the  fire  up,  an' 
when  he  turned  around  I  had  him  covered  with  my 
six-shooter;  that  I  was  shore  a  goin'  to  kill  him, 
when  Tom  an'  Ernie  happened  along  an'  saved  him. 
Then  ol'  Mr.  Doyle  he  up  an'  says,  'Any  questions, 
Jake?' 

"  'Yes,'  says  I.    'All  that  he  has  said  is  a  lie.' 

"  'Order,'  says  ol'  Mr.  Doyle.  That  ain't  no 
question.'  Ol'  Jack  he  didn't  even  peep. 

"  'Your  Honor,'  says  I,  T  have  just  called  ol' 
Jack  a  liar  right  here  in  this  temple  where  justice 
is  dispensed  with,  an'  he  just  sat  right  there  on  that 
witness  stand  an'  never  took  it  as  a  insult  at  all.  Is 
he  any  different  in  the  mountains  than  he  is  here  ?' 

"  There's  somethin'  in  that,  Jake,'  says  the 
Judge.  Tf  a  man's  always  a  watchin'  his  honor  like 
a  hunter  watches  a  deer  lick,  he's  a  goin'  to  shoot, 
irrespective  of  time,  place  and  conditions.' 

"  'Now,  Jack,'  says  I,  'you  don't  bear  a  good 
reputation,  do  you  ?' 

"Jack  'lowed  that  it  was  shore  better  than  mine. 

"  'You've  been  to  San  Quentin  for  murder,  ain't 
you  ?'  I  asks. 

"  'Yes/  said  ol'  Jack. 

"  That's  all,'  says  I  to  him,  an'  he  got  off  the 
stand. 

"  'Now,  Alf  Redfield,'  says  I,  'take  the  stand.' 
"  'What  for?'  asks  the  Judge. 

"  'Because  I'm  a  goin'  to  prove  by  Alf  an'  Ike 
Wharton  an'  the  rest  of  them  boys,'  says  I,  a  sweepin' 


DOYLE,  J.   P.  97 

my  hand  in  their  direction,  like  I  was  a  lawyer,  'that 
ol'  Jack  Johnson's  reputation  in  the  community 
where  he  resides  is  about  on  a  par  with  that  of  a 
sheep-killin'  dog.  Nobody  that  knows  him  believes 
a  word  he  says,  an'  his  own  dog  is  scairt  of  him,  a 
thinkin'  that  when  he  says  "sick  him,"  he  means 
"come  here." 

"  'You  needn't  prove  nothin'  of  that  kind,  Jake/ 
says  the  Judge.  'The  Court'll  take  judicial  recog 
nizance  of  that/  says  he.  'That's  all  the  evidence 
I've  got/  says  I,  'except  my  own,  an'  I  don't  want  to 
have  to  give  that,  if  possible.  I'd  like  for  to  ask  ol' 
Jack  one  more  question/  says  I.  'Have  the  fees  in 
this  here  case  been  paid?' 

"Or  Mr.  Doyle  he  jumped  up  like  some  kid  had 
put  a  pin  in  his  chair  an'  he'd  sat  down  on  it,  an' 
says  he,  'I  clean  forgot  all  about  the  fees.  Jack  ain't 
paid  'em,  an'  the  Court  has  wasted  its  time.  Jake/ 
says  he,  'you  kin  go  back  to  your  sheep,  an'  ol'  Jack  '11 
go  to  jail  for  contempt  of  court  for  five  days,  and 
this  court  stands  adjourned  on  this  case  to  the  Judg 
ment  Day/  " 


BEYOND  THE  REALM  OF  LAW. 

''Ernie"  Mason,  browned  from  exposure  to  the 
summer  sun,  his  alert,  knowing  eyes  gleaming  under 
the  brim  of  his  "shore  enough''  Stetson,  was  standing 
on  a  crag,  intently  watching  his  charge  of  browsing 
sheep.  By  him  stood  his  mindful  collie,  the  sharp- 
pointed  nose  sniffing,  the  ears  cocked.  The  brown, 
dirty-fleeced  sheep  sent  forth  their  persistent  and 
plaintive  bleating.  The  view  was  surpassing  from 
where  the  sheepherder  stood.  To  the  north  was  the 
white  cone  of  Shasta,  floating  like  a  cloud  in  the 
sky.  To  the  east  lay  ridge  after  ridge  loaded  with 
trees  exuding  the  odor  of  balsam,  and  beyond  was 
the  broad  and  fertile  valley  of  the  Sacramento,  now 
denuded  of  its  golden  harvest,  and  covered  with  a 
mantle  of  brown.  Back  of  him  was  the  barren  peak 
of  South  Yallo  Bally,  a  scrap  heap  of  granite,  the 
playground  of  cloud,  frost  and  snow.  On  the  west 
the  precipitous  Hammer  Horn  towered.  The  air 
was  pure  and  cold,  for  there  was  snow  in  the  vicinity. 
The  sun  was  on  the  decline,  and  the  shadows,  the 
advance  guard  of  the  Army  of  Night,  were  beginning 
to  creep  down  the  deep  canons. 

"Go  fetch  'em  up,  Andy,"  shouted  the  herder. 
The  dog  darted  off,  and  started  the  leaders  down 
toward  the  flat  where  camp  was.  The  herder 


BEYOND  THE  REALM  OF  LAW      99 

whistled,  the  dog  tore  back  and  forth,  making  the 
air  vocal  with  excited,  ringing  barks.  "Ernie,"  in 
a  spirit  of  relaxation,  drew  his  heavy  revolver  from 
the  holster  and  fired  several  shots  in  the  air,  awaken 
ing  echo  after  echo.  Some  of  the  sheep  huddled  to 
gether  as  the  crashes  echoed  and  re-echoed,  but  soon 
lost  their  fear,  and  presently  the  whole  band  made 
its  way  down  the  narrow  serpentine  trail.  Down, 
down  they  went,  clambering  over  rocks,  through 
brush,  and  then  through  a  spruce  forest,  closely 
watched  by  the  dog  and  herder. 

Soon  they  arrived  at  the  flat,  and  "Ernie"  betook 
himself  to  his  camp.  The  sheep,  now  that  the  day's 
outing  was  over,  became  playful.  The  lambs  jumped 
two  or  three  feet  in  the  air.  Whole  lines  of  the  band 
charged  back  and  forth  across  the  flat,  giving  the  ap 
pearance  of  an  end  run  in  a  football  game.  All  the 
time  the  air  was  full  of  their  bleating. 

The  campfire  burned  brightly,  the  coffee  boiled 
merrily  and  the  frying  venison  sent  forth  a  delicious 
odor.  "Andy"  sat  near  by,  apparently  very  much 
interested  in  the  preparations  for  supper.  Now  and 
again  a  few  venturesome  sheep  began  to  climb  out 
of  the  flat  to  browse.  At  a  word  from  his  master 
the  dog  ran  up  near  them,  turned  them  back,  and 
then  returned  to  his  station  by  the  fire. 

The  supper  was  soon  ready,  and  "Ernie"  said 
"grub  pile"  to  himself,  and  set  to.  The  mountain 
air  and  the  day's  work  had  given  him  a  good  appetite, 
and  he  was  oblivious  to  everything  except  the  hot 
coffee,  the  frying  pan  with  its  browned  venison,  and 
the  bread  in  the  Dutch  oven. 


100  WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

The  sun  had  gone  behind  the  Hammer  Horn. 
The  purple  outlines  of  the  Bully  Choops  were  becom 
ing  indistinct.  The  deep  canons  were  clothed  dark  in 
shadow.  The  crescent  moon  was  just  visible.  Soon 
the  night,  with  its  bright  train  of  stars,  would  come. 
The  wind  blowing  through  the  tops  of  the  arrowy 
spruce  sounded  like  the  monotonous  beating  of  the 
surf  on  a  rock-bound  shore ;  the  perpetual  sound  of 
falling  water  could  be  heard. 

"Ba,  ba-a-a."  "Ernie"  sat  up  straight.  What  was 
that  ?  It  couldn't  come  from  his  herd,  it  was  too  in 
distinct.  "Ba,  ba-a-a."  He  stood  up.  There  must 
be  another  band  of  sheep  in  the  vicinity,  and  he  felt 
that  probably  the  herder  intended  to  camp  with  his 
charge  on  the  very  flat  where  he  was  encamped.  He 
left  his  supper  unfinished  and  went  to  the  place  where 
the  trail  entered  the  flat,  excitement  in  his  counte 
nance.  Yes,  it  was  another  herd,  and  it  was  coming 
to  his  flat. 

He  heard  the  loose  rock  crunching  under  the 
hoofs  of  the  advancing  sheep.  He  saw  the  herder 
in  the  rear  leading  a  pack  mule,  and  the  ever-present 
dog  was  by  the  herder's  side.  "Ernie"  walked  up 
the  trail  to  meet  the  herder. 

"Hello,  pardner,"  he  said. 

"Hello,  yourself,"  answered  the  other  .herder,  a 
dark,  heavily  bearded  man. 

"Kind  o'  late  gettin'  into  camp  to-night,  eh? 
Where  you  strikin'  out  f er  ?"  asked  "Ernie." 

"I'm  a  goin'  to  camp  on  this  flat  down  here  for  a 
couple  of  days,  and  then  I'm  a  goin'  to  drive  'em  out 
to  the  Valley." 


BEYOND  THE   REALM   OF   LAW  101 

"Don't  see  how  you're  goin'  to  do  that,  pardner. 
I've  got  my  band  down  there,  and  it  wouldn't  do  to 
mix  'em." 

"The  hell  you've  got  your  band  down  there! 
Well,  you  just  get  'em  right  often  there.  That's 
my  land." 

"Your  land?  Why,  all  this  land  here's  Uncle 
Sam's  land.  I  don't  go  for  you  or  anybody  like  you. 
I'm  on  Uncle  Sam's  land,  and  I'm  one  of  his  boys, 
and  I'm  a  goin'  to  stay  where  I  am  if  'Old  Betsy'  's 
good  for  anything,  and  I  think  she  is — shoots  like  a 
rifle,  and  I  kin  hit  a  runnin'  deer  at  100  yards." 

"Say,  young  man,  you're  talkin'  kind  o'  loud. 
Fire  uv  youth  and  all  that,  I  guess.  That  land's  my 
land,  and  I'm  a  goin'  to  camp  this  here  band  uv  sheep 
on  it  spite  uv  hell  and  high  water.  Go  'long  and 
drive  them  sheep  uv  yourn  often  there." 

"Pardner,  I'll  call  your  bluff.  You  put  four  logs 
down  on  the  ground  and  called  that  a  cabin,  didn't 
you  ?  Never  hold  in  the  world.  I  put  some  timothy 
in  last  year — did  better  than  the  logs  did.  I'm 
young,  but  I  wasn't  born  yesterday.  I  won't  get  off 
the  flat.  I've  known  about  this  flat  since  before  the 
woods  was  burnt,  and  nobody  has  ever  home- 
steaded  it." 

The  intruder  scowled.  He  looked  at  his  rifle- 
stock  peeping  out  of  the  case  strapped  to  the  pack 
saddle,  then  at  the  heavy  revolver  in  "Ernie's"  belt. 
He  hesitated  a  moment,  then  blurted  out : 

"All  right,  young  man,  but  I'll  get  even  with  you. 
You  have  plenty  of  cheek,  and  it  seems  to  be  all 
sharpened  ready  for  use;  but  I'll  fix  you.  S'long." 


102  WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

He  turned  the  sheep  down  the  canon  toward  a 
little  spring.  He  could  camp  there,  but  it  was  not  a 
suitable  place,  being  very  rocky  and  steep.  Down 
went  the  sheep,  keeping  up  their  bleating.  Now  and 
again  the  sharp  whistle  of  the  herder  and  the  loud 
barking  of  his  dog  could  be  heard  above  the  din. 
The  sides  of  the  canon  were  heavily  timbered,  with 
here  and  there  a  rock  slide.  There  were  many  fallen 
trees ;  besides,  there  was  underbrush  in  places,  so  it 
took  some  time  for  the  wrathful  man  to  disappear. 

When  the  din  died  away,  "Ernie"  went  back  to 
his  supper.  The  fellow  intended  mischief,  that  was 
certain.  They  were  far  from  civilization,  and  the 
mountains  could  tell  no  tales.  No  law  of  God  or  man 
was  recognized  where  they  were.  Life  was  reduced 
to  the  primal,  the  elemental.  The  dark  side  of  human 
nature  had  full  play,  for  pretense  and  affectation 
stopped  at  the  foothills.  A  shot  from  the  brush,  a 
scattered  band  of  sheep,  a  circling  cloud  of  buzzards 
— who  would  know  ? 

"Ernie"  decided  to  keep  close  watch  until  his 
troublesome  visitor  had  departed.  He  finished  his 
supper,  and  when  darkness  had  come,  carried  his 
blankets  beyond  the  glare  of  the  firelight  to  the  head 
of  the  canon.  He  rolled  up  in  his  blankets,  the  "gun" 
near  at  hand,  and  lay  looking  at  the  stars.  The  night 
soon  became  very  dark,  for  the  moon  was  young, 
and  sank  behind  a  peak.  Overhead  the  starry  host 
twinkled,  and  the  Milky  Way  trailed  like  a  shadowy 
serpent  across  the  heavens.  The  weather  was  cold, 
and  there  was  a  wind  blowing  that  chilled  to  the 
bone.  The  bleating  of  the  sheep  had  ceased.  Save 


BEYOND  THE  REALM  OF  LAW  103 

for  the  sound  of  falling  water  and  the  rush  of  wind 
through  the  treetops,  a  Titanic  silence  prevailed. 

In  the  morning  of  this  day,  when  young  Jim  Hol 
land  threw  away  a  lighted  cigarette  on  the  canon 
side  below  where  "Ernie"  was  sleeping,  he  did  not 
foresee  the  results.  He  did  not  dream  that  his 
thoughtless  act  would  start  a  fire  that  would  lay 
waste  the  shaggy  forest  for  miles  around.  He  was 
too  intently  engaged  in  hunting  deer  to  think  of  any 
thing  else.  So  when  he  dropped  the  lighted  cigarette 
in  a  small  heap  of  dry  pine  needles,  he  went  on  his 
way  without  giving  the  matter  a  thought.  By  night 
he  had  returned  to  his  camp,  miles  distant.  But  the 
little  disk  of  fire  remained.  It  caught  the  pine 
needles,  and  then  slowly  spread.  By  night  probably 
two  acres  had  been  burned  over,  and  several  logs 
were  smoldering.  It  needed  merely  a  brisk  breeze 
and  a  royal  fire  would  be  under  way. 

"Ernie"  soon  dropped  into  a  fretful  sleep,  "Andy" 
lying  near.  He  rolled  and  tossed.  Of  a  sudden  he 
sat  up,  his  eyes  blinking.  The  moon  had  gone  down 
a  long  time  before.  It  was  unheard  of  that  it  should 
go  down  and  then  rise  again.  Crackle,  crackle — a 
sullen  roar.  Great  God !  That  light  wasn't  from 
the  moon.  The  canon  was  full  of  flame,  and  the  wind 
was  forcing  the  fire  up  towards  the  flat.  Huge 
tongues  of  flame  darted  up  from  dry  logs,  a  brush 
heap  crackled  and  burst  into  a  blaze,  little  trains  of 
fire  crawled  like  serpents  among  the  pine  needles, 
long,  arrowy  flames  flared  up  the  trunks  of  moss- 
covered  trees. 

It  flashed  through  "Ernie's"  mind  in  an  instant. 


104  WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

The  forest  was  on  fire.  Crackle,  crackle,  rush  and 
roar.  On  came  the  fire.  A  dry  limb  caught,  and 
the  flame  darted  out  to  the  end  and  gave  the  appear 
ance  of  a  flash  of  lightning.  "Ernie"  went  down  the 
canon  a  little  way  and  found  the  heat  intense.  There 
was  great  danger  that  his  charges  would  perish  in 
the  conflagration.  Of  course  he  could  escape  with 
his  life,  for  he  could  run  faster  than  the  fire ;  but  the 
sheep,  he  couldn't  move  them  at  night;  they  would 
"shore"  stampede. 

"Bang!" 

"Ernie"  jumped  behind  a  rock  out  of  the  light. 
The  bullet  went  whistling  through  the  boulders. 

"Damn  a  man  who  does  his  work  in  the  dark !" 

"Ernie"  crawled  back  to  the  flat.  The  fire  had 
not  lighted  it  up  yet  to  any  appreciable  extent.  The 
sheep  were  not  moving.  They  were  not  yet  dis 
turbed.  With  the  assistance  of  "Andy,"  he  rounded 
them  up  in  the  center  of  the  meadow,  and  awaited 
developments.  The  fire  ran  swiftly  up  the  canon, 
and  the  flat  became  lighter  and  lighter.  The  sheep 
became  uneasy ;  their  plaintive  bleat  could  be  heard 
above  the  rush  and  roar  of  the  fire. 

On,  on  came  the  flame  demon.  With  one  final 
rush  it  reached  the  head  of  the  canon,  and  darted 
like  lightning  up  a  tall,  dry  spruce  tree  that  a  former 
fire  had  killed.  The  sheep  began  to  run  back  and 
forth  on  the  flat.  The  heat  was  intense.  In  a  few 
seconds  "Ernie"  knew  that  his  charges  would  begin 
to  stampede.  He  would  try  and  drive  them  up 
among  the  rocks,  where  there  was  no  timber.  The 
flat  became  as  light  as  day. 


BEYOND  THE  REALM   OF  LAW  105 

"Bang!" 

A  bullet  hit  the  ground  at  his  feet.  He  saw  the 
flash  of  his  enemy's  rifle,  and,  pulling  his  heavy  re 
volver  from  the  holster,  fired  at  the  spot. 

Ah  !    What  was  that  ? 

A  loud  wail  of  despair. 

"Oh,  Christ !  Bitten  by  a  rattlesnake !  Oh,  God ! 
Oh,  God !  Oh,  oh !"  came  to  his  ears  over  the  rush 
and  roar  of  the  flames. 

The  fire  cracked  and  crackled,  blazed  and  roared. 
The  sheep  became  more  excited  and  restless.  "Ernie" 
began  to  drive  his  charges  toward  the  rocks.  The 
voice  of  his  enemy  could  be  heard  above  the  roar  of 
the  flames.  Over  the  bleating  of  the  sheep  the  shrill, 
sharp  bark  of  the  collie  could  be  distinguished. 

"I'm  goin'  to  die,  but  I'll  take  you  with  me.  I'll 
kill  you  for  settin'  out  that  fire!"  yelled  a  frenzied 
voice. 

"Ernie"  saw  a  haggard,  wild-looking,  black- 
bearded  man  hurl  himself  through  the  flames,  his 
rifle  in  the  hollow  of  his  arm. 

"Say  your  prayers,  young  man.  We  haven't  got 
much  longer  to  live.  I  feel  the  poison  a  workin'." 

He  drew  his  rifle  toward  his  shoulder.  "Ernie" 
heard  the  lever  click. 

"Ernie"  drew  his  revolver. 

"Oh,  God!  Oh,  God!  This  pain  is  frightful.  Oh, 
oh!"  moaned  the  snake-bitten  man.  He  staggered. 
He  tried  to  raise  his  rifle  toward  "Ernie,"  then  he 
fell  over,  writhing  and  twisting.  "Buzz,  buzz,  damn 
you,  buzz !"  shrieked  the  horror-stricken  man. 

"Ernie,"  fearful  of  some  trick,  sought  refuge  be- 


106  WYLACKIE  JAKE  OF  COVELO 

hind  a  boulder.  He  peered  over  it.  He  saw  his 
enemy  roll  and  writhe ;  he  heard  his  curses  and  im 
precations.  For  a  moment  he  would  lie  still ;  for  an 
instant  his  tongue  would  be  silent.  Then  he  would 
have  a  spasm.  Then  words  would  come  forth  in  one 
long,  continuous  monologue  of  mixed  prayers  and 
curses.  Finally  "Ernie"  decided  to  go  to  his  aid, 
and  stepped  from  behind  the  boulder.  The  injured 
man  sat  up ;  he  reached  for  his  rifle.  "Ernie"  stepped 
back  to  his  position  of  security.  He  looked  over  and 
saw  the  man  calmly  put  the  muzzle  of  his  rifle  to  his 
head,  pull  the  trigger,  and  roll  over. 

Flames  chased  flames  over  logs  and  through 
brush.  They  seemed  to  compete  for  the  honor  of 
being  first  up  a  tree.  The  sheep  began  to  climb  up 
out  of  the  flat,  but  -the  fierce  flames  and  their  rushing 
and  roaring  frightened  them. 

The  mournful  sound  of  the  bleating  of  the  sheep 
blended  with  the  wild  and  angry  roar  of  the  flames. 
There  was  a  rush,  hundreds  of  hoofs  hammered 
the  loose  rocks.  There  was  a  sound  as  of  crush 
ing  and  crowding  trampling.  Some  of  the 
frightened  sheep  dashed  straight  into  the  flames, 
their  eyes  distended  with  terror.  The  moun 
tain  side  was  lit  up  for  yards  and  yards  by 
the  flaring  flames.  Clumps  of  spruce  and  alder, 
mingled  with  gigantic  boulders,  stood  out  in 
bold  relief.  When  the  sheep  stampeded,  the  flat  was 
almost  encircled  by  a  flaming  wall.  Now  that 
"Ernie's"  charges  had  destroyed  themselves,  he 
sought  his  own  safety.  He  climbed  up  on  the  sum 
mit,  the  scrap  heap  of  decomposed  granite,  and 


BEYOND  THE   REALM  OF  LAW  107 

looked  down  upon  the  sea  of  angry  flames.  Above 
the  rush  and  roar  he  thought  he  detected  the  startled 
braying  of  a  mule  and  the  shrill  ringing  bark  of  a 
dog. 

For  two  days  "Ernie"  tried  to  round  up  some  of 
the  scattered  sheep  which  had  survived  the  wild  night 
stampede,  but  his  effort  was  well  nigh  fruitless. 
When  he  reached  the  valley,  of  the  1,000  he  had 
started  for  the  mountains  with  in  the  month  of  May, 
he  could  scarcely  muster  200. 

Far  down  in  the  canon  when  "Ernie"  left  was  a 
circling  cloud  of  huge,  black  birds,  that  for  many 
days  feasted  upon  the  carcasses  of  sheep  that  had 
perished,  and  at  night  bears  and  panthers  growled 
and  glared  as  they  crunched  bones. 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
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DAY  AND  TO  $I.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 


IN1LR-UBRA 
LOAN 


LD  21-95m-7,'37 


7/yiackie 


129696      I         955 
E92 
of  Covelb.       w 


YB  73392 


RARY 


